


Fueling the Fire

by jeejaschocolate



Series: Never Doubt I Love [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Play, Awkwardness, Baby Showers, Bathing/Washing, Body Worship, Boundaries, Emotional Baggage, Epilogue, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family Issues, Father-Son Relationship, First Dates, Gender Issues, Hand Jobs, It's all in the Final Fantasy universe, Kissing, Lingerie, Love, Not so great dad!Regis, Orgasm, Rating for later chapters, Repressed Feelings, Romance, Sequel, Sex Work, Sexual Dysfunction, Side Ships, Slight crossover with FFXII, Spring-autumn relationships, Trans Character, Trans Issues, Transphobia, Trust, Tucking/Gaffing, Workaholic Regis, pent up sexual tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-05-03 10:11:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 61,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14566779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeejaschocolate/pseuds/jeejaschocolate
Summary: (Some years after “Firefly”) (A large part of this fic is also an epilogue for the series)Regis is working himself into a state of collapse. He takes Ardyn’s advice and goes to a massage parlor. One of *those* massage parlors.There are so many women in these places. Regis knows the type. Nothing new. Hardly a chance Regis will meet anyone he finds even remotely interesting outside of a single awkward afternoon.….He is so very wrong. She is nothing like what he expects…she’s gorgeous. Awe-inspiring, really.





	1. Willow

**Author's Note:**

> ...Yeah. I have no idea what I'm doing, guys. Here's the sequel no one asked for--because I have Regis feels (especially after 'Dressed to the Nines' T___T)!
> 
> Anyway...here's some meager explanation...
> 
> Fran is a character from FFXII. I feel like this game (and its characters, who are actually pretty interesting) doesn’t get enough credit. It has its problems, but I actually really like it ^_^’’. And I love Fran quite a bit. [Here’s some stuff on Fran.](http://finalfantasy.wikia.com/wiki/Fran) Obviously I’m changing things around to make her fit into this setting. She’s a regular human (no bunny ears, sorry). And she’s a trans woman. [Here is the gameplay we get about Fran’s backstory](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PLG7eiH-g7M). Starts at 3:20 and goes until about 23:00. Could be a good watch if you’ve never played FFXII or if you need a refresher. Or if you just love the viera scenes as much as I do ;).
> 
> TW (I guess): Fran’s representation is coming from a place of deep respect. Fran was conceived as a whole character, I hope she comes across as such. I honestly think this story could be written with Fran being trans or being cis, it doesn't really change much. Just the dialogue in some scenes. I debated for a while but ultimately this is the way Fran insisted on staying in my head. (I mostly just wanted to write a sexy spring-autumn relationship and this is what I came up with lol). Additionally, there is some very light transphobia on Regis’s side, not at all the main focus of the story. The main focus of the story is (or should be) the beauty of love as a whole. If there’s anything I can do better in the narrative, please leave me a comment or DM me on tumblr. Thanks guys <3
> 
> Also TW: Regis is old and ornery so he sometimes uses the ‘p’ word. The word that starts with ‘pro’ and rhymes with… ‘ostitutes.’ But only in his inner thoughts, never out loud. (He’s from a different era, don’t judge him too harshly T__T)
> 
> Notes on “Firefly”: This takes place about four years after the end of Firefly. Everyone’s still together ;) Regis is slowly coming to terms with his son’s sexual orientation and choice in partner, but he’s not quite there yet. His favorite thing to do is still throw himself in work. His run as comptroller recently ended and now he’s back in his old job: CEO boss man. It’s a good look for him (that suit am I right?).

**Chapter One: Willow**

Regis fucking loved standing there. 

(Though you might not know it if you looked at him. He kept his personal satisfaction to himself, preferring instead to show a man in control—of himself, of every aspect in his life.) 

This was Regis’s second home. The boardroom. The office. The mahogany table, the soft gray carpet. The top floor suite converted into a working space for the top officials of the company. He’d worked on this floor practically his whole life. Thirty-five years is a lifetime for some. For Regis, that’s how long he’d been in power. 

As president and CEO, Regis considered the boardroom—where he addressed his advisors and board members—a throne room. Here, people listened to his words like he was giving addresses on the fate of their kingdom, rather than rattling off his understanding of the market for the next fiscal quarter. 

This was his true purpose. Framed by the backdrop of the city captured in the wall-length window behind him. Towering over everyone else. Delivering orders. This, the passion of leading, was what had driven him through the rougher parts of a mostly arduous life. Work was what Regis lives for. He made all his ambitions into realities—his business, and then his second career as a politician. Being a comptroller was fun while it lasted (if a bit tedious at times). Regis served four years on the city council, earning himself a name in the political sphere. Now that his four year term was up, Regis was back at work for the company. He was once again operating on all cylinders as the shrewd investor he’d always been. 

Maybe he should consider a run for mayor soon. While his name was still on everyone’s lips. Life in the spotlight suited Regis quite nicely. He knew how to come off well in front of the cameras, how to seem just human enough in interviews to garner sympathy from people. It was an easy ploy. (Unfortunately, his son Noctis never did pick up on that. Even after years and years, Noctis still seemed awkward around the media. Hapless and unbearably honest. Like a dirty smudge on the pristine glass of Regis’s reputation. But…Regis had learned to live with this. 

Sort of.)

Good optics were Regis’s best friend. His longest surviving relationship. Commanding the room was his second best. And then, Clarus maybe. His vice president, the man who served as CEO in Regis’s absence. Clarus was quite helpful in his way. But he ranked an easy third compared to the glory of success and the mantle of power. 

Regis loved his job. 

…Love was the nearest word. (Actually, the facsimile of true feeling was half the battle.) 

In his heart, Regis had room for nothing other than cynical obligation. He worked day in and day out. The picture of dominance. Pin-striped suit buttoned up to the collar. A face awash with sincerity and stone cold intelligence. An intelligence he’d garnered for himself through decades of hard work. Regis knew how to manipulate, how to win, how to make other people lose, how to fold a bad hand quietly and come out on top.

Yes, Regis loved his job. He loved preeminence and sacrifice for personal gain. He loved the company, everything he had built. 

Or….he used to.

“As I believe you can all see for yourselves,” Regis announced to the room full of his subordinates. “There is about to be a resurgence in the stock market very soon. Fueled by an increase in viability from the recyclable plastics industry, as Besithia pointed out.” He nodded at the man across the table, Versatel Besithia the leader of the R&D department.

That nod—a sharp movement of his head—left Regis dizzy. Right away, the black spots in his vision he had been fighting back all morning returned. They danced in his eyes, making it so difficult to concentrate on the paperwork in front of him, littered with tiny numbers.

Not again. And not here of all places!

Lately—just recently, the past two (or five or six) months—Regis had been feeling…tired. That’s all. A bit weary. Quick to fall asleep at night with difficulty waking up in the morning (something he’d never experienced before, always quite disciplined with his schedule). Bouts of drowsiness that assaulted him around midday, which could descend into dizziness if he didn’t sit down right away.

At first Regis chalked it all up to the last few months of his comptroller term. There had been so much to do right at the end. No doubt the weariness he felt—the aching in his bones down near the marrow, where a whole world of exhaustion lived, waiting to seep into his body at the most inopportune times—was due to the stress of finishing his incumbency. Regis expected to feel better as soon as he settled back into his regular job. The thrill of command should chase away the burnout he suffered being a public servant.

But so far, it had not. If anything, the tiredness had only gotten worse once Regis reassumed his CEO title. He now found it difficult to get through a whole day of work. Not every day, of course! Only now and then. Hardly a serious matter. Just once or twice a month. A few occasions. …Once a week, at most. 

Acknowledging the spots in his vision, Regis promptly sat in his high-backed leather swivel chair. There. That was a little better. At least now he could not hear the ringing in his ears so much. 

He continued his decree. “I find it quite likely that we’ll see similar benefits in our stocks as a result. And we should capitalize on it.” He paused while his subordinates nodded dumbly, absorbing his instructions. 

Regis didn’t know what was happening to him. Why was he so tired? Could it be his age catching up to him? But he was only just turned 56—hardly old! Yes, Regis wasn’t quite as spry as he used to be, but still. He was nowhere close to retiring age (in truth, retirement was not something Regis could fathom. Since his job was all he knew how to do). 

Maybe he’d just been in poor health. A cold or a flu that refused to go away. He needed to drink more water, take a hot shower when he got home to clear his sinuses. That’s all. A routine affair that all people suffered from time to time. …For six months. Possibly.

Regis’s hands quivered in his lap. They had grown so weak lately. Sometimes Regis could not even lift his coffee mug without it threatening to spill over from clumsiness. He needed to try two times to turn a doorknob. And he could forget about holding a pen. 

No matter. He could always have someone else open all his doors. There were always people around willing to do that for him. And he only needed to control his fountain pen long enough to administer his signature. Everything else was done on computer these days. Having…early onset arthritis (was that what this was?) meant nothing. It happened. So what? People moved on. 

Regis folded his hands so no one else would see the way they were shaking. Loqi Tummelt—the head of Sales—began explaining his new strategy for his team that quarter. Regis looked in his direction and pretended to listen. 

He really couldn’t focus. His mind felt like wisps of cloud he was trying to corral into one place. Impossible. Intangible. 

Whatever this was—this illness plaguing him—it was getting worse.

Why? Regis had no answers. He used to be in such good health all the time! And he loved his job—well, until recently. The past few months had been…boring, was one word. More like, Regis’s sense of purpose was largely diminished.

He’d already won. He’d held public office, he’d succeeded as an investor, as a company president. What else did he need? What other goals could he align for himself? 

The next step. Regis’s whole life had always been about the next step. What came after. The thing he needed to do once the sweetness of victory subsided. A new purpose.

But since his term ended, Regis’s sense of purpose was…not as strong as it used to be. The people (sycophants, really) who surrounded him seemed dull as dishwater. Arriving and performing the tasks of his daily job was more of a hassle than anything else. What challenge was there when the title had already been afforded? When the world already knew him?

What was Regis supposed to do with the rest of his life? 

And he was so damn tired. All the time these days. The tiredness clung to the edges of his mind, always trying to bring him down. To make him sleep. To nap like a deviant in the middle of the day. Or even to…take some time off. 

Never.

Regis had never taken a day off for anything other than debilitating sickness. Flus that gutted him. Bronchitis. Pneumonia, that kind of thing. And the death of his wife. Regis had been forced to take a whole week off because of that, years ago. He returned to work immediately after—to his son’s dismay, if Regis remembered correctly. (Damn, Noctis had never been the same since Aulea died. He became so weak once they lost her. So emotional. It was something Regis would regret for the rest of his life—his son’s lack of emotional fortitude. Not that he blamed himself, but. He wished he could have stopped it right at the source, back when Noctis was little. Then they wouldn’t have needed to go through all the pain of Noctis’s tumultuous young adult years. Dear God.) 

Regis rubbed his forehead. No, no days off. Not then and not now. 

Loqi rambled on and on. Regis frowned. Why was Loqi not making any sense? The words sounded garbled in his ears. His sinuses were throbbing. The spots in his eyes had become large dark patches inching around his peripheral vision. 

Why was his mind so wayward? Sometimes, Regis would catch himself lost in thought. On pause. Just standing in place for minutes upon minutes, a whole half hour. Even an hour. Staring into space, completely still. He couldn’t remember what he thought about during these times—it was as if he had tiny blackouts while awake. Trying to fast-forward through life. 

He was losing time.

“Sir? Your thoughts?” 

Regis blinked confusedly at Loqi. Everyone in the boardroom was waiting for his answer. But he had no idea what they were even talking about. He was sweating from head to toe although it wasn’t hot. His breathing was coming in quick rasps, like he had just been running up stairs. 

Was he dying? Was he having a heart attack? A stroke?

“Regis.” 

He looked to his left, where Clarus was staring at him. His small eyes were cold with scrutiny. (Clarus at his most serious.)

“Regis, are you alright?” 

“I’m fine.” 

Except…he slid off his chair, knees hitting the floor. A few people screamed, rushing to his side or running out of the room to get help. 

“Call 911!” Clarus ordered.

Regis put his hands out to break his fall. On all fours in the middle of the boardroom, he looked around for Clarus again. There was really no need for all this fuss. Regis would be fine in a moment. Once his head stopped spinning and his vision cleared. 

“Clarus, I’m fine…” His hands couldn’t support him. He fell to his chest. 

“Regis, just hold on. An ambulance is coming.” 

An ambulance? For whom? Regis wondered if there was some kind of emergency going on that he wasn’t aware of…

…right now though, his body was done. Only for the moment. He needed to rest. Later he could find out exactly what was so urgent that his staff called an ambulance in the middle of the day—the middle of a meeting, no less! 

And so, Regis passed out.

__________________________________

He woke up in a hospital bed. The room was dismally white. Harsh fluorescent lights shone down upon the patients like a spotlight. 

Noctis was sitting in a chair next to Regis’s bed. Thank goodness his son had the good sense to secure him a private room. No need for any gossip from hospital roommates or anything like that. Perish the thought.

The ambulance…

Oh dear lord. He had been taken out of his building in an ambulance. In broad daylight! It would be all over the papers…they’d be doing damage control for weeks. Months, probably!

Shit fuck. Regis’s whole body hurt like’d been run over by freight train. He groaned from somewhere deep in his chest. The light was too bright. He wanted to go back to sleep…if only he could afford the blissful ignorance of sleep. 

“Dad?”

Regis’s eyes swept over to Noctis. Unamused and weary. Noctis had recently decided to keep a sparse, scraggly beard and mustache. Regis didn’t like it. It made his son look like a recovered meth addict, he thought. And he said as much. But, Noctis still wore it.

“Dad!” Noctis leaned forward in his seat, brushing some bangs out of his eyes. Damn, his son’s hair was getting too long again. In sore need of a trim. But Regis knew he’d have no luck convincing him to go to a stylist. 

“Ugh….” Regis squeezed his eyes closed. Too much input. Every slight movement made his body ache horribly. 

He felt so terribly weak. Curse this weakness, trapping him in a hospital bed like an invalid…

“Dad, just relax.” Noctis put a hand on his father’s shoulder. Regis tried not to flinch. (They normally only touched under extreme circumstances, and Regis was not up to being touched at the moment, with his body as it was.) “You’re in the hospital. You collapsed at work. Do you remember?”

Regis sighed. “Yes of course. Though there was hardly a need for an ambulance. I just needed to lay down for a moment…” 

Noctis’s face fell. He gave Regis a hurt look, as if Regis had just said something insulting. What, what could possibly be insulting about all that? Regis swore Noctis looked hurt over almost anything. He had grown so tired of that look over the years. 

“Dad, you were unresponsive.” Noctis took his hand away and leaned back in his chair. Reassuming their comfortable distance. “We thought you were having a stroke. Thank goodness it wasn’t anything that serious, but it could have been! You were unconscious for almost twenty-four hours.” 

Twenty-four hours?! Regis’s eyes shot open. How was that possible? Were they drugging him or something? 

“They said you were over-tired.” Noctis frowned at his father. “How long were you at the office, Dad? Two days? three days?”

Closer to five, but. Regis declined to comment. He didn’t see the point in going home if he was just going to continue working from his laptop. What was the real difference? He was better off just staying in the office, resting his eyes on the couch when he felt tired. Saved time.

Unfortunately, Noctis was all too familiar with Regis’s work habits. He didn’t need his father to clarify. Sighing, he just asked, “Well. How are you feeling now?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Regis answered. He made to sit up. Something tugged on the inside of his elbow—he looked and found himself connected to an IV. 

What was this? Drugs of some kind?! He whipped around to face Noctis angrily. How could his son let them do this to him?!

“It’s just saline solution. Calm down,” Noctis explained. 

Oh. Well, then.

“Here, let me go get the doctors so they can explain everything.” Noctis walked out in a hurry. 

Great. So Regis had finally landed himself in a situation where he was dependent upon medical professionals. And his own barely self-sufficient son.

Wonderful. Was he being punished for something?

…Still. Regis would be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel a tiny bit better (just a small, minuscule fraction) to see Noctis at his side when he woke up. If he’d been alone here…Regis wasn’t sure how he would have felt. Bitterly lonesome, probably. Abandoned. No one from work had bothered to show up. Not even Clarus, who was most likely running everything from Regis’s chair (just as Regis would have instructed). Regis didn’t need to look in the nurses’ registry to know that Noctis had been his only visitor. Along with Ignis maybe, if he could find the time. That’s it. 

At least he still had Noctis.

Regis was secretly very relieved that Noctis had taken the time to sit with him. For all his faults, Noctis was loyal. Caring. (True enough! He cared for all those misbegotten animals…and that _man_ he chose to support down to the last cent…) 

Nonetheless. Loyalty was an admiral trait. Regis would always be proud of Noctis for that.

He should probably thank his son for looking after him. Yes, he would. Later. When they were alone.

The doctors explained that Regis was suffering from exhaustion. Symptoms of physical weariness that usually came before complete burnout. They interrogated Regis (in front his son! how humiliating) about his other ailments. Regis told them everything piecemeal. Bit by bit. Until the whole truth was finally out.

He’d been in a bad place for a while. Losing time…that had the doctors raising eyebrows at each other. 

“Dad…” Noctis’s eyes watered. He looked betrayed, dismally afflicted. As if Regis had been hiding all of this from him on purpose (which he had). 

Of course Noctis would take this personally.

“What?” Regis barked. “It’s not that serious. I’m just getting on in years. This is to be expected.”

“Actually…” The doctors surrounded Regis on either side of the bed and began taking his pulse. Checking his breathing with the stethoscope. A whole big show. “…we should probably run some more tests before we clear you to go home. An EKG to check your heart-rate and perhaps an MRI to make sure you haven’t suffered any brain trauma.” 

“Is that really necessary?” Regis asked, grimacing as they manhandled him. 

They didn’t answer him. Just let the reality speak for itself as they checked and double-checked the readings on his chart. 

“Let the doctors do their job, Dad,” Noctis admonished. He sat back down in the chair. “They know what they’re doing. And we have to make sure you’re…okay. Right?” 

Regis swallowed angrily. But, he was happy Noctis once again chose to sit down. He nodded at his son—head as stiff as a board. It was as close to a loving gesture as Regis was capable of. 

He should have thanked Noctis out loud. He would have, except they weren’t alone. He didn’t want the doctors to hear him thank his son…because he knew how awkward and stilted it would sound. They’d probably think him a fool, or a coldhearted bastard. Everyone so loved to judge Regis like that.

Whatever. There was still time to thank Noctis. Plenty of time, probably, since it looked like Regis wasn’t going anywhere. 

Fucking splendid.

__________________________________

It was another two days before the doctors finally allowed Regis to leave. By then he was completely miserable. He hated being sedentary! His whole life had been constant motion and action. Striving. Now the doctors were telling him to move around as little as possible to ease the strain on his limbs and heart. 

This was certainly torture. Regis knew now that he was being punished for something.

Finally, after two days where Regis rendered himself practically unlivable (snapping at nurses, delivering cutting comments to Noctis and Ignis, his only two visitors, pouting like an unruly child), the doctors signed off on Regis’s release. 

“Your body is overtaxed,” they explained. “You’re showing signs of extreme exhaustion and chronic fatigue. There’s no damage to your heart yet, but at the rate you’re going…” They shook their heads seriously. “You’re headed for a heart attack or a stroke before you’re 60.”

Noctis gulped and gave Regis an accusatory glare.

Fine. Regis would admit the news wasn’t exactly a surprise to him.

“You need to take it easy as much as you can.” The doctors passed him pamphlets for all kinds of prescriptions (anti-anxieties, downers, Valium and all that). “How flexible is your work schedule? Can you take any time off?”

There, those dreaded words. _Time. Off._ They echoed in Regis’s ears like a death knoll. He tried to hide the disgusted look on his face.

“…We’ll talk about it at home,” Noctis quickly followed up. “Thank you for all your help, guys. I know my dad isn’t an easy patient, so…we really appreciate it.”

The doctors smiled in understanding while Regis huffed. They told him to take at least a week off work. Preferably two. The best case scenario would be to slowly ease back into work a couple of hours at a time. Or else, they said, he might very well wind up right back in the hospital. 

Regis immediately refused to follow any of that. Until he learned that they had already called his offie and—in the interest of his health—instructed Clarus not to let him into the building for at least a week. Which Clarus agreed to, for his friend’s sake. 

Those goddman snakes…and Clarus! Clarus knew him better than that, didn’t he? What did he think Regis would do with himself for a whole week away from work? He sent his friend an angry text message about it—accusing him of treason and the like—before jamming his cell phone in his shirt pocket. (At least he was in his own clothes again, instead of that pathetic paper gown.)

A nurse arrived with a wheelchair. Regis frowned. Who was that for? He was the only patient in the room and he didn’t need….

Oh hell no.

“Come on, Dad, just until we get to the car okay?” Noctis was offering his hand, trying to help Regis into the chair.

“Absolutely not.” 

“Sir, it’s not advisable to put any unnecessary strain—”

“Yes, yes, I heard you the first seventeen times,” Regis snapped. “But I don’t see how walking a few feet is any kind of strain—”

“It’s hospital policy, sir,” the lead doctor informed him. 

Regis thought about threatening all kinds of libel lawsuits should the media see him like this (in a wheelchair, like a man twice his age!)…but then he realized it was pointless. The hospital wasn’t doing this out of spite. They were just trying to protect their own asses in case Regis had a heart attack on his way out the door. It was standard procedure. Nothing more. 

Regis would have to bear it. Since no hospital worth their salt would ever incur a negligence lawsuit upon themselves. They paid enough in malpractice insurance as it was, Regis had no doubt.

Closing his eyes and steeling his will, Regis let Noctis take his hand. (Hmm, his son had surprisingly strong hands. Did he work out? Well, Regis remembered hiring a personal trainer for Noctis several years ago, Clarus’s son in fact…was it finally paying off?) Standing up proved slightly difficult. His knees were more wobbly than he expected. And his right knee had always been weak, ever since that skiing accident in his twenties. He needed to lean on Noctis as he sat. Luckily the chair was less than a step away or else Regis might have embarrassed himself further by falling again…

Maybe the hospital staff actually did know what they were doing. (Regis decided to keep those thoughts to himself, though.)

Noctis wheeled him out of the room, exposing his father to a litany of nurses and other patients. He thought about hiding his face in one hand, dreading whether any of these people had smuggled in a camera. But no. Hiding was for weaklings. If this was how it had to be—if this was the hand he had been dealt—Regis would just have to play it to the end. He held his head high and clasped his hands in his lap. As graceful as it was possible to be in a situation like this. 

At the door, they met _him_. That _man_. Regis felt his stomach do a flip from being so caught off guard—why hadn’t Noctis told him he would be bringing his lov—God no, Regis could not bear to say that word. His _companion_. Roommate. Associate. Boyfriend, even. All of those were far better alternatives to that unnameable thing this man was to Noctis.

Ardyn, his name was.

Regis flicked his eyes over Ardyn’s appearance, choking back his disgust. Ardyn was wearing a blue cashmere sweater, brown slacks, and those…fucking Bruno Magli knockoffs, as always. Regis despised those shoes. Pitifully cheap. Counterfeit, but not so obvious that you had to own up to it. Ardyn could always say he just ‘liked the style’ of those brown leather loafers, instead of admitting that they were borrowing heavily from the designer brand. A casual lie, self-serving and flashy.

Indicative of the man himself.

“Good to see you again, Regis,” Ardyn said, eyes wide. Smiling. Nodding politely. No doubt squirming with pleasure to see Regis at his weakest. 

They’d never quite gotten along, Ardyn and Regis. Sure, Regis had known the man for nearly five years at this point. They were on civil enough terms. But that didn’t mean he had to _like_ Ardyn. After all, what was he? A conman, pure and simple! This man with the golden eyes and the devil’s own luck had managed to charm Regis’s son into giving him room and board for life. A comfortable lifestyle. Money enough to publish a book of some kind, which Ardyn had recently just sold nearly 10,000 copies of. Quite a feat for a first year’s release. 

Although, cons aside, Regis could not hate Ardyn completely. The effect he had on Noctis was plain enough to see. He convinced Noctis to get treatment for his…emotional problems. Something Regis had never successfully gotten his son to do for more than two sessions. Now Noctis was in therapy once a week. And medicated appropriately. He had become much more stable ever since. Easier to be around. Happy, even.

Regis could never deny how happy Ardyn made his son. The truth was plain as day. Everyone knew it.

So. Despite their differences, Regis had learned how to put up with Ardyn over the years. After a lot of fucked up dinners and weekends. He had a certain level of begrudging respect for Ardyn (a self-made man, Ardyn was, whether or not you approved of the business he came from, sex work and all that). But he never—never ever!—allowed himself to appear weak in front of Ardyn! Who knew what a silver-tongued vagabond like Ardyn might do with compromising information on Regis…

And now here he was. Cowering in a wheelchair before the conman himself. Well! If he had to be in a chair—and he did—he didn’t have to _cower_! He would stuff all his humiliation down to the pit of his stomach and pretend like nothing was wrong.

“You as well,” Regis bit out. 

Lips twitching in a poorly concealed smirk, Ardyn opened the door for them. “Shall we?” 

Checking for any paparazzi, Noctis cautiously wheeled Regis out into the street. A few cameras went off across the way, but fortunately Ignis had pulled his car up to the curb. So they were outside for less than minute. Noctis helped his father into the backseat, with Ardyn standing safely on the other side of him in case Regis might slip. 

Oh, right. Regis had never managed to thank Noctis these past few days for all his help. He would, once they got home. As soon as he managed to steal some time alone with Noctis, outside of anyone else’s earshot. 

“Good morning,” Ignis intoned from the driver’s seat. Ardyn piled into the passenger seat.

“Morning, Ignis,” Regis murmured. Noctis followed his father into the back. Not a moment after their seatbelts were buckled, Ignis peeled off. Escorting them back to Regis’s luxury apartment on the upper west side. 

Home. His real home (or at least it was supposed to be). He’d finally have some time in his apartment. That would be nice right? Probably not. No.

Regis had never really spent too much time by himself there. In the beginning, he’d bought the apartment with Aulea. She was the one who liked the look and feel of the place. The balcony out back overlooking the river. The stony garden in the central courtyard. The art deco architecture. Regis didn’t really have an eye for that stuff. He liked his office. The comfortable couch against the wall. More than enough for him. Especially after Aulea passed away. Regis could hardly stand to be in that apartment for the first few years after her passing. He needed to slowly get used to the feel of the place once she was not around to fill the gigantic space of it. 

Noctis was no help in that department when he was a kid. Always crying all the time. It grated on Regis’s nerves. Reminding him of their mutual loss, rehashing everything over and over again like he was purposely torturing his father. But then, when Noctis finally moved out…lo and behold, the unbearable silence of the place only got worse. Regis almost anywhere else in the world to his own home—travel privileges which he took advantage of whenever business allowed. 

Now he’d be apartment-ridden for a full week. The gods were laughing at him, weren’t they?

Ignis pulled into the below ground parking lot, taking up the usual space (a space in this lot went for about $850 a month, but Regis made sure he rented at least two. One for Ignis and one for himself). Ignis got out first and went around the car to open the trunk. He emerged at the passenger’s side, greeting Regis with something long and thing in one hand.

Regis swung his legs onto the concrete. He reached for Noctis’s hand—it was there, thankfully. He frowned at thing Ignis was holding. He objectively knew what it was, but. That didn’t mean he had to acknowledge its presence in the slightest. 

“Please, take this, sir.” Ignis held onto the cane with both hands. 

“No. Get it away from me.” Regis turned his head in dismissive rage.

“Dad, please,” Noctis took the cane and turned it so Regis could easily grab the ergonomic handle. “I can tell your knee is bothering you. And it’s just for now. Doesn’t mean you’ll be using one for the rest of your life.”

Regis sighed in defeat. He knew Noctis was right. But why did his pride have to be pulverized so thoroughly today? 

“Unless you’d rather hold my hand on one side and grip Noctis’s arm with the other,” Ardyn tossed out cheerfully. “It’s your choice.”

Regis shot daggers at the man. Point taken. He snatched the cane begrudgingly and leaned his weight on it with one wobbly hand. 

Dear lord. He was so abysmally weak. Were the doctors sure this was nothing but exhaustion? It took Regis nearly ten minutes to walk to the elevator on the other side of the lot. Noctis held Regis’s hand the whole time, making sure his father gripped his arm. He walked patiently alongside his father’s lopsided gait.

A hobbled old man. That’s what Regis was.

They rode the elevator in silence while Regis wondered why he was even still alive. Maybe it would have been better for everyone if he’d actually had a stroke and perished—

No, no. Talk like that was ridiculous! Death was an easy way out. Regis still had fifty more years before he had to think about death. And he’d be fighting for his own independence for every single one of those years, thank you very much!

(Christ, fifty years…that sounded so terribly long at the moment.) 

By the time they reached the apartment, Regis was already winded. Ignis set to work preparing a small lunch while Noctis and Ardyn helped Regis into his overstuffed armchair. A doddering old man sitting by the fireplace, remembering better times. That’s what Regis was destined to become, wasn’t he? 

He leaned back against the armchair and closed his eyes. Sleep sounded like such a horribly enticing guilty pleasure. 

Meanwhile, Noctis and Ardyn sat on the couch opposite him. Noctis flipped through the pamphlets of prescription pills the doctors sent home with him. “Have you looked at any of these? Maybe you should make an appointment with my psychiatrist. She’ll probably know how to get you started.”

Regis’s face burned with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “I don’t need Valium, Noct. I’m not…” 

Not what? Not like you? Regis had actually almost said it. Fortunately he stopped himself just in time. He didn’t want to hurt Noctis like that. (In fact, he never intentionally planned on hurting his son. It’s just that Noctis was so much more sensitive than most. That wasn’t Regis’s fault.) 

“I’m fine,” Regis finished. “I just need some rest. That’s all.”

“You definitely do need rest,” Ardyn added. Regis’s eyes cut straight to him, surprised that he would be throwing his two cents in already. “The question is, have you any idea how to go about it? Relaxing yourself, I mean. It seems like you might need a refresher course.” 

“I’m 56 years old, Ardyn,” Regis reminded them all (needlessly). “I know how to relax.” 

They just stared at him. Their looks, and the painful silence, was so telling.

Of course Regis had no fucking clue how to relax. They all knew that! But why did they have to talk about it? Why couldn’t they just let him be? Let him ride out the length of this involuntarily sentence in his lonesome. Watching television or something. There were probably some good programs on TV, weren’t there? (Not that Regis would know. He’d watched nothing but news channels for the last ten years at least.) Reading a good book. Regis cast his eyes towards the expansive book shelf that lined the far wall of his living room. It was almost entirely for show. Most of the books there were classics—placeholders on the shelf—or marketing textbooks. Regis hadn’t touched a book since his graduate school days.

Alright, so he wasn’t much of a reader. Or a couch potato. Or a music lover or a sports fan. Regis didn’t go in for any of that. He liked work. Closing deals and managing funds. That was the enjoyment he got out of life.

Without that…who the hell was he? 

The thought honestly scared him. He licked his lips anxiously and stared out the window. The river’s current was strong today. The water lapped against the rocky shelf of the apartment’s facade. A few small boats were out, trying their best against the waves. 

Oh—that’s right! Fishing! Regis used to fish, didn’t he? So did Noctis! It was how they bonded, wasn’t it? 

He turned to Noctis with a small victory smile hidden behind his bushy grey mustache and beard. “Let’s go fishing this week, Noct. I’m sure the marinas will be open this time of year.”

“What, fishing?” Noctis shook his head in confusion. “Are you serious?” 

“Of course. Why not?” Regis’s smile widened. “You love fishing, don’t you? I remember you had quite the collection of lures. A few years ago, but still. We could make a day of it. What do you say?” 

Noctis’s mouth formed a tight line. He grabbed Ardyn’s hand and held it in his lap, like a child reaching for a comforting toy. “Dad, we haven’t gone fishing since I was like nine years old. I’m…I’m almost thirty, you know? It’s…been a while.” 

…Ah. Had it really been that long? Twenty years? Impossible, Regis remembered those days like they were yesterday! Noctis, an incorrigible young fishing expert. Out in the marina from sun up to sun down. Refusing to go home even once the sun had set. He remembered a young boy with wind-blown black hair, pants soaked from climbing in the water to fetch his various catches, telling him, _“But Dad, nighttime is when all the big ones come out!”_

_“Oh, is it?”_

_“Yeah! Don’t you want to catch the Noct Gar?”_

Regis hadn’t even been sure the Noct Gar was a real thing. He still wasn’t, because they stayed out until midnight with no luck catching anything except a chill. Noctis got a cold from being wet all night, but he seemed so very determined. Speaking of the legendary fish for days on end…

Noctis had been such a sweet child. Regis remembered those days quite fondly. 

But now…

Noctis was looking at Ardyn with a pained expression on his face. As if some part of that had been painful for him and he needed his companion’s help. Why did everything hurt Noctis? Why was his son always in so much pain? 

For years—decades, even—Regis had been helpless against the sheer unconquerable might of Noctis’s pain. He just didn’t know how to help him. Nothing he did or said seemed to work. A wave of frustration and old guilt rose up inside him, but at least Regis was used to quashing this. He shoved all those feelings inside and looked out the window again.

“We could still go,” Regis offered, mostly to fight the uncomfortable silence. “If you want.” 

Noctis said nothing.

A moment later, Ignis appeared with a tray of sandwiches and fresh tea. He served everyone, setting a plate and saucer on the fold-up table in front of Regis. The gold on Ignis’s ring finger caught the light and gleamed modestly. Ah, right. Ignis’s wedding band. Regis still somehow always managed to forget that Ignis was married—for two years now (and Regis had even attended the wedding! For an hour or two, at least). His wife was a remarkably attractive woman Ignis’s own age. Long silver hair and a sharp tongue. Aranea, that’s right. They made an appealing couple. Ignis spoke of her like she was a blessing, someone he’d never stop thanking the universe for sending him. And she looked at him like a beloved pet. A best friend. A partner.

Ignis was in love with Aranea. That much was obvious. It was interesting watching the studious man navigate the feeling. Regis hardly remembered what it felt like to be in love—though he was certain he had loved Aulea once upon a time. Many, many years ago now. Over time, Regis’s love had morphed into loss. Now, instead of anything like joy, Regis only remembered pain when he thought about the feeling. Love as a concept was forever altered in his mind.

So, he would have to observe love from afar on the faces of the people he knew. Like a researcher taking notes on a colleague’s interesting experiment. Fascinating in its own right, but irrelevant to Regis himself. Fruitless. Just a passing fancy.

“How’s your…wife?” Regis asked, taking the tea from Ignis. Damn, why did he have to stutter on that word? It made the whole question sound awkward! Bad enough that they almost never spoke of Aranea, now Regis had to make it uncomfortable! 

“Quite well, thank you.” Ignis’s whole face lit up as he spoke of her. “She’s coming along very nicely. The doctors tell us everything is right on schedule. And the last ultrasound went smoothly—”

Regis almost spat out his tea. “Wait, she’s…you’re…” He suppressed a cough and swallowed. “Is your wife pregnant, Ignis?” 

All eyes turned to Regis. Ignis stood there stiffly, as if momentarily frozen. “Yes, sir. She is.” He sat down next to Noctis. “We spoke about this a few times. As recently as last month, if you remember.” 

Regis remembered nothing like that. Although, he did recall a strange conversation about diaper bags they’d had over dinner one night. The durability and storage capacity of different brands. Regis had thought it was strange at the time, but…now it made sense. 

He really needed to get his head together. 

“Aranea’s baby shower is next month,” Noctis reminded him. “Prompto and I are planning it, remember? You already said you would go.”

“Oh, yes, yes the shower.” Regis nodded. _That_ he did actually remember (just the details, like whose shower it was and how he knew her, had slipped his mind). “Of course.” 

Ignis and Noctis exchanged silent glances. Regis didn’t have to look at them to know what they were communicating to each other. 

Regis was worse off than any of them realized. 

…And so it was. He hardly had any appetite so he took a few bites of the sandwich just to be polite and then sat there waiting for the others to start talking. The reality of this situation was becoming more apparent by the second. 

Regis had been gunning towards a breakdown for months. Possibly years at this point. So, it finally happened. At the very least, this breakdown hadn’t done any lasting damage. Now they were on borrowed time. A make or break moment. If Regis didn’t make some serious life changes right now, he would be on the fast track to an early grave. 

They were all dancing around the subject. Not saying the truth out loud to spare Regis’s feelings, and to keep the mood light (talking about death was not exactly comfortable lunch conversation). But it was obvious enough.

The circumstances were dire. 

“If you’ll allow me a moment of your time, sir,” Ignis announced, shattering the grim silence with his overbearing politeness. “I’ve taken the liberty of looking into several professional care companion services. There seem to be a few options worth considering—”

“Stop.” Regis pushed the fold up table away from him. He didn’t want to look at leftover food right now. “What is that? Professional care…whatever you said. Explain.” 

Ignis pushed up his glasses. “It’s a service. Nurses, adept not just in medical care but in amicable companionship, visit the home and take exceptional care of their patients. They’re treated like family from what I understand.”

Regis contemplated firing Ignis right there on the spot. “I. Am _not._ A…patient, Ignis. Do you understand me? Is that perfectly clear?” 

A pause. Then Ignis continued, “Well, you might not need medical care around the clock, sir, but I don’t see why we shouldn’t explore a set-up that gives you personal freedom with continued oversight from a professional—”

“I _don’t_ need a babysitter either, goddamnit!” Regis let his hand fall on the fold-up table. Clattering the silverware loudly. “That’s preposterous! I’m not ancient, for pity’s sake! I don’t need a day nurse or a _companion_ or anything like that. I just…” 

What? He just what? Regis closed his eyes, trying to gather himself so he could come up with something to say. A way out. A way back to where he was, where he used to be. The man in control of his fate, of his life. Of his body and purpose—

Regis so badly wished he could turn back the hands of time. If only he were ten or fifteen years younger. Stronger. Knowing who he was and what he needed to do. Confident. Not a man in an armchair, too weak to stand, but a strapping, capable leader. 

Someone worthy of respect. 

Was this all Regis had to look forward to for the rest of his life? A gradual withering of the respect he was due? Enfeeblement and then…a slow end. 

His head sunk down to his chest. He felt helpless. More nearer to collapse than he’d been that day in the boardroom. Regis would probably die in this very chair. Cold and alone. Noctis too sad and too distant to come see him. Ignis busy with his new family. Clarus ruling comfortably from his place in the company.

And Regis’s best friends: Good optics and easy command. Nowhere to be found. 

He looked at his aged, wrinkled hands. When had he gotten so old? Why had time sped up on him? Those years he spent slaving away on the company, on his political career…why had they fast-forwarded him through the best years of his life? 

“Like I said,” Ardyn cut in. “You just need to remember how to relax. Really enjoy yourself. Focus on the finer things in life for a change. Get your health back. Health and heart, I should say.” 

He tilted his head, locking eyes with Regis. “I could help you.” 

That offer. Something about it made Regis’s skin crawl. He had a feeling—a very sure feeling—that Ardyn was about to suggest something…unsavory. In what way? Regis could not be sure. Ardyn had left the sex work industry, hadn’t he? So he wasn’t about to offer himself up or anything—although for some reason that’s exactly where Regis’s mind went. A night with Ardyn. Just the two of them—

Yeah. No. Absolutely not! Under _no_ circumstances. Not even for a…sensual massage or whatever godforsaken nightmare Ardyn could offer him!

And if it wasn’t _that_ (sweet merciful god, Regis hoped he could eventually get _those_ images out of his head), then it was definitely going to be something smarmy. An under the table offer that most men in Regis’s position shouldn’t even think twice about. Lest a scandal break not seconds after Regis said he would consider it. 

No. Best nip all that nonsense in the bud.

“Not interested,” Regis spat. He turned away, spurning the uncomfortable eye contact Ardyn seemed intent on giving him.

“At least hear him out, Dad.”

Hearing Noctis’s objection, Regis spun around. He stared at his son incredulously. First of all, didn’t Noctis know who Regis was? That he couldn’t dabble in the underworld as Noctis had and get away with it? Why did Noctis always pretend like he didn’t know that?! Secondly, was Noctis really…alright discussing this? Had they talked about this before they came here?

Was this all some kind of set up? To get Regis to do…what, exactly?

He glanced back at Ardyn warily. His cobalt eyes hardened to metal.

Ardyn raised his hands innocently. “It’s just an offer, my good man. You’re free to take it or not, as you see fit. But as Noct said, at least listen to me in full before you make a decision.” 

Regis bit back a myriad of insults from devastating to petulant. He wanted to put Ardyn in his place right then and there. For even suggesting that he had anything Regis would want. Something Regis could find even remotely useful. 

But…as Regis sat there, staring at the unruly waves below his apartment, he realized that he didn’t really have much to lose in this moment. His reputation was not exactly stellar at present, what with the collapse and subsequent hospital stay. And even then, what did it matter? Regis was facing a world where he was feasibly too sick to work. What did reputation matter in a world like that? Horrifying to consider. But true. This was where he found himself. 

Even if Ardyn floated some kind of ridiculous, insulting idea, would Regis really be that much worse off? And if—on the very outside chance—he suggested something that could help even a little bit (nearly impossible, but they were in uncharted waters here), wouldn’t Regis do anything to be back where he belonged? At work, on top?

Alright, fine. He’d hear Ardyn out. But he didn’t have to look at him! He’d just…keep staring out the window.

“…I’m listening, then.” 

“Wonderful.” Ardyn rearranged his legs where he sat. Getting comfortable. Hamming it up, as always. “I know a little place, bit off the radar if you will. Hardly a name anyone would recognize in the light of day.”

Regis already hated where this was going. 

“Simply put, it’s a massage parlor. It’s run by a team of professionals who are without any doubt the best in the business. All highly trained. They have women there—if that’s what you like—who will work out all the tension you’ve accumulated over the past…however many years it is you’ve been running yourself into the ground.” 

_If that’s what you like._ Ah. So. It was one of _those_ massage parlors, was it?

Ardyn shrugged.”Of course, the specialty there is the happy ending. I can’t guarantee it will change your life or anything, but. It is a rather satisfying experience I assure you.” He grinned. Nothing short of leering. “Very relaxing.” 

Regis almost threw up his lunch. That Ardyn would just…come out and say it! In front of Noctis, and Ignis! Regis’s own son and his employee! How could Ardyn be so carefree offering something like that out of the blue when he barely even knew Regis and was supposed to be something like a son-in-law to him…

…Well, the ‘how’ of that wasn’t really in question. Ardyn’s previous line of work had given him the ability to cut to the chase when he needed. And he probably had very little shame to speak of. No, the real question here was…

How would any of _that_ help Regis? A massage, really? That’s the best Ardyn could come up with? And a—well, let’s call it what it was! A hand job under the table from a prostitute. _That’s_ what Ardyn meant when he said ‘happy ending.’ Regis knew the term, of course. Men spoke of it in hushed tones when they went out for drinks. Or in the gentlemen’s after party at many of the professional events Regis hosted over the years. It was a normal affair.

Of course, Regis himself had never paid for such a thing. He wasn’t the massage type to begin with. He didn’t really like people touching him like that, unless they were already intimate. It was too…touchy-feely. Kind of grossed him out. 

(He had no way of knowing that that’s exactly how his son felt, years before. Specifically, before Ardyn came into his life.)

So, there was never any occasion where Regis treated himself to a massage. Nonetheless the additional service at the end. 

Had he ever paid a prostitute, though? …Once or twice. Back many, many years ago. About a year or so after Aulea died when he was at his loneliest. Yeah, he’d paid for sex before. Completely on the down low, in a motel where no one knew his name. A few hundred dollars and he’d had sex with a woman whose eyes were long past dead. Then he spent the next month getting exhaustive STD tests. He was completely negative, he’d worn a condom, but still. The feeling of grime followed him for months afterward. Even so, he’d hired another one about a year later when he was drunk. That time, Regis had been too drunk to even get it up. He just called for a woman in a foreign hotel (the manager at the front desk had offered Regis the service and he took it against his better judgement). When she arrived, he sobbed into her breasts and told her how much he missed his wife. For about thirty minutes or so until her time was up. And she still charged him full price!

Rousing good fun. You might say.

So yeah. Those were the only two times Regis had ever paid for sex in his life. He’d more than had his fill of it. Besides, the days of ‘free-love’ (so to speak) were more or less over for him. Regis’s youth had passed him by and he was left with the ramifications of a body that had no idea what to do with sex even if it was offered to him.

…Not that he was _completely_ impotent. No, not completely. But…mostly, yes. 

Regis could not get it up at will like he used to. Erections just didn’t happen naturally for him anymore. About ten years ago, when Regis first encountered this problem, he tried some erectile dysfunction medications. Natural male enhancement and all that. They’d worked, but Regis never acquired a girlfriend with whom he could take advantage of the pills. Plus, they made his blood pressure go through the roof. Eventually Regis decided that pulling himself off once a week to videos like ‘Sorority Lesbians Gone Wild’ just wasn’t worth it. So he stopped. He hadn’t taken the pills in years and wasn’t about to start now with the state of his heart being what it was. 

These days, Regis had basically given up on his sexuality. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been fully hard. Every so often—rare, like a mythical creature—Regis would find himself on the threshold of those first few steps into hard-on territory. Brief stirrings, nothing more. He wouldn’t even try to recall the last time he’d had an actual orgasm. 

No. The only ‘orgasm’ Regis enjoyed since he reached fifty was the release of landing a particularly difficult client. Or an investment coming into fruition. Or his name in the papers, headlining a rather favorable story. These kinds of things were as close to a sexual experience as Regis ever came.

And yeah. He could have considered it a personal failure, his impotence. If he thought about it hard enough. But not really. It didn’t really count as long as he didn’t share it with anyone. And that part of his life—sharing his body (such as it was) with other people—was over. Simple as that. 

Regis waited another moment. Then he said, “Well? Is that all? That’s your suggestion, after all this? A massage parlor and… _that_?” He glanced nervously at Noctis and Ignis. Thankfully they were looking away (small mercy). “You really can’t offer me anything better?”

Ardyn’s eyes widened in shocked amusement. He smiled, staring at the ceiling gleefully. “My! Who would have thought you were so _worldly_ , Regis? Well-versed, shall we say? To find such a thing _pedestrian_ …well, I’ll admit, I had you pegged all wrong!” 

Damn it. This man, twisting his words. Turning a shade of light pink, Regis held up one hand. “No. Stop. Of course that’s not what I meant.” 

“It isn’t?” Ardyn feigned confusion. A jester on a stage, this man was. Damn him to hell. “Then what do you mean? What kind of ‘better’ did you have in mind?” 

Regis sighed. How had he backed himself into this corner? Why hadn’t he seen this coming? He rubbed his forehead, resigning himself to a fate of drawn out shame. 

“I just mean…I don’t see how that can help me. If anything I should be staying away from…strenuous activity.” Dear god, why did he have to speak about this in front of his son? “And my body is far too sore for a massage.” 

“Forgive me, but…” Ignis finally spoke up. “I must say I agree with Ardyn.” 

He let those words land for a few moments. Almost enough time for Regis to catch his breath after having the wind knocked out of him by Ignis Scientia, of all people. Suggesting he get a—

“Your body is sore from lack of use, sir. I think your muscles could do with a fair bit of stimulation.” Why, oh why, did Ignis have to use that word? “Also, massages have been known to rejuvenate people. There are whole fields of study dedicated to the idea of realigning energies. Yoga, qi gong, tantric practices. They all rely on the same principle: Deep breathing and stretching the muscles.” 

All nonsense, as far as Regis was concerned. But far be it from him to interrupt. 

“I’m not saying that any of these philosophies are the equivalent to modern medial science, but.” Ignis crossed his arms thoughtfully. “One has to acknowledge the longevity. People have put stock behind these principles for thousands of years. Perhaps they do hold some water.” 

“Yes, well said, Ignis,” Ardyn chimed. “In addition to all that, the gentlemen I’ve met coming out of this parlor have been happy to tell me they felt refreshed. ‘Like a new man,’ many said.” He shrugged. “So, could it hurt?” 

“Besides, sexual activity wouldn’t put too much strain on your heart. As long as it doesn’t become overly rigorous, analogous to a cardio exercise. Which most happy endings are not, to my understanding.” How in hell did Ignis know that? Oh wait, wasn’t his wife some kind of…something? Someone who gave sex talks to people or workshops…like that? 

Dear god, was Ignis a deviant now as well?

“I think it could really help you, Dad.” 

Regis wished he’d heard wrong. But no, that was his son telling him to go along with all this. Wishing him a pleasant sexual experience and worrying about his health—had Regis fallen through the pale into some crazy new dimension? How could Noctis, his _son_ , be comfortable with the idea…? Regis wasn’t even comfortable admitting that Noctis and Ardyn slept in the same bed, quite frankly.

Noctis’s eyes were round. Sincere and pleading. “The people Ardyn knows are professionals, okay? They know exactly how to help you relax. Massages and…everything.” He bit his lip, pausing for a moment. “Seriously Dad, I can’t remember the last time you treated yourself to anything. You never take vacations, never go to the spa. You don’t even buy yourself luxury stuff anymore. And I’ve never seen you with a girlfriend! Not since…you know.” 

Aulea, yes. They didn’t speak of her normally, and yet. Her presence was there. Always. Filling up the air between them like a ghost.

“Maybe this is what you need. Some time with a person that just wants to make you feel good.” Noctis shrugged. “I think you should do it.” 

“So!” Ardyn clapped his hands together. “That’s three votes for my blue-sky idea. Care to cast the deciding vote, Regis?” 

They were all ganging up on him. For what? What did any of them get out of this? Humiliating him? Well they’d already accomplished that! So, what the hell else? 

What did the world stand to gain from the violation of Regis’s useless body? What fresh suffering did he need to endure to satisfy the universe? To make Noctis happy, to appease the body that seemed to love making him appear weak in front of everyone—

“It couldn’t work,” Regis said. Relying on caution to save him. “If it ever got out that I went to a place like this…”

“Not to worry,” Ardyn assured him. “This parlor excels in discretion. Their clientele includes some of the most famous names in the upper echelons of society, and no one would ever know. You have to make an appointment just to show up. And there is never any interaction between the guests. Just the masseuses and their clients, that’s it.” 

He nodded, red hair bobbing in midair. “I could take you, naturally. In my car, so there would be no connection between your presence and anyone else in your staff.” Ardyn thought for a second. “It would be like a boy’s day out, wouldn’t you say? I’ll arrange everything!”

Boy’s day…Regis would have laughed if his pride wasn’t currently laying in tatters on the floor. Was Ardyn out of his mind? What world did he come from where this was a normal conversation? 

Why did everyone else seem to agree with him? 

Regis’s shoulders sagged. He was defeated, wasn’t he? They had already decided he should do this. And if he staunchly refused, then it would look like his own fault when (if!) something bad ever happened to him. The next collapse. They could say it was all because Regis refused to accept anyone else’s help. A trait he’d carried his whole life. What finally killed him.

Damn it. Damn it all a thousand times. Fuck this whole thing. Regis couldn’t believe he was being put in this position…

….However….

Little by little, his mind tried to conjure up the positives. The angles that suited him best. For one, this affair with Ardyn would take up some time. At least a day. And Regis suddenly found himself with an abundance of days he had no idea what to do with. So that was one taken care of.

Two: Agreeing to do this would give him clout with Noctis and Ignis. He could say, when it was all over, that he’d tried their cockamamie suggestion. Now they needed to respect his own choices for how he wanted to live his life. Maybe they’d let him go back to work earlier if he somehow convinced them he’d been ‘cured.’

Three, side note to point one: It was only one day out of Regis’s life. They weren’t recommending a whole life change or anything like that. Like retiring early or going on multiple planned vacations throughout the year (heaven forbid).An event like this—as perverse as it was—ostensibly stood to cost Regis very little in terms of time, money, and energy. He’d be at risk of exposure, but if what Ardyn said was true then that risk was low. Low enough to be worth the gains. 

Finally, four: Of course this plan wouldn’t work. Nothing would come of this. So, at the end of the day, Regis would be right back where he started. He should think of it like a nondescript personal hygiene routine. Like getting his hair cut or his nails clipped. Just a routine massage and a failed attempt at a hand job—Regis would probably forego the service altogether behind closed doors (then lie to Ardyn and say he’d done it). No sense making some poor masseuse girl try for hours to jerk him off, only for her day to end in failure. 

Besides, Regis had no particular want to share his impotence with anyone else. Not even a sex worker. So, he didn’t plan to go through with this to the end by any means.

How would these three ever know the difference? 

Yes, it was humiliating. Yes, it was sheer stupidity. And yes, it was pointless. But if it meant so much to them, and if filled up a day, then…Regis supposed he could play along. 

At least it would shut Ardyn up for a while.

“….Fine. Since you all insist.” Regis crossed his arms defensively. “This place of yours, Ardyn. What’s the name of it?” 

______________________________________

Ardyn could hardly believe his good fortune.

Alright, alright. _That_ was a little cold. After all, Regis had almost died a few days ago! Ardyn should hardly be celebrating a thing like that! These times called for a serious tone and a genteel manner. Conscientiousness and all that. 

Unfortunately, Ardyn had never been graced with much in that department. No, what he did have was a glorious opportunistic streak. The ability to play a long game. Keep it close to the vest, and then, when the time was right…strike. 

Oh, Ardyn had been planning this for years. Regis’s rehabilitation. At the hands of his well-trained friends who knew exactly what to do with a hard-ass aged well beyond his years.

He’d even made a call to Perfect Harmony once before. Thinking he’d arrange a secret meeting for Regis, sort of dupe him into going by saying it was for something else. Then subjecting his pseudo father-in-law to the time of his life. And, hopefully, a markedly better attitude as a result. In the end, Ardyn had scrapped this idea because he highly doubted Regis could be tricked in that way. Say what you wanted, the man did his homework. He could ask around about Perfect Harmony and find the reality of the parlor’s business easily enough. Then Ardyn’s plans would be foiled. Beyond that, even if Regis didn’t find out until it happened, he’d never forgive Ardyn once it was done. For deceiving him into paying for pleasure like that. Regis would be scandalized! And the plan itself would be ruined, because no matter how good he felt, Regis would never let it slide. He’d hate Ardyn (even more) forever. 

So the only option was to bide his time. Wait. Until he could explain his idea to Regis and have the man agree to it on his own terms. In full. 

At last—at long last!—that day had finally come. Sure, it had taken Regis having a complete breakdown at work, but. Was anyone really surprised? They’d all seen it coming. It was only a matter of time. Ardyn hadn’t even needed to lift a finger for that one. Regis had gotten there all on his own.

Now that Regis was at rock bottom, they could finally make plans to help him. Really tackle the things Regis needed. 

That’s where Ardyn came in. Because he knew exactly what Regis needed. In all likelihood, the only place he’d find it would be in the delicate, candlelight rooms at Perfect Harmony. 

Ardyn excused himself while Noctis and Ignis continued to entertain Regis. He closed the door behind him and sat in Regis’s bedroom to make a very private phone call.

How long had he been holding onto this number? Years and years! With no guarantee it would ever be useful. But somehow—call it good intuition—Ardyn just knew it would come in handy someday. He’d known since the very first time he’d laid eyes on Regis. Back in the man’s office on the day Noctis came out of the closet. 

Ardyn had taken care to put a little star on the number, favoriting it, just in case. Because this was his last hurrah. He’d gotten Ignis laid, then Gladiolus, then Prompto. Now, fuck, Ignis was married and Aranea was about to pop out a kid. Prompto and Cindy were on their way to the same. To arrange a lover for Regis…well, that was the ultimate challenge. The prize at the end. The final feather in his cap.

Ardyn was so very up to it. 

He pressed the contact and made himself comfortable on Regis’s bed. (The least used piece of furniture in the apartment, by Ardyn’s reckoning.) He twirled a finger in his hair as he waited for someone to pick up.

Finally a voice. “Perfect Harmony zen garden supplies. Find your zen. How may I help you?” 

“Ah, yes. I’d like to speak with Mother, if you please.”

“…Who should I say is calling?”

Hmm. Ardyn thought for a moment. “Tell her an old friend is in need of a favor.” 

He listened patiently while he was transferred to a different line. A much more private line. 

“Hello?”

“There you are, Theresa, my dear. It’s so wonderful to hear your voice again.” Ardyn wasn’t even lying about that. He and this woman went back more years than he cared to count. Besides the fact that she was the perfect person to handle a situation like this, Ardyn was so pleased Theresa had been doing well all these years. 

So had he. Wasn’t it grand to speak to an old employer and find that both of them had managed quite well since they’d parted ways? Ardyn would gladly call her a friend at this point. 

They caught up briefly.

Then Ardyn explained. “Anyway, I’m calling to ask for a favor, Theresa. I need you to make an appointment for a friend of mine this week. I’m sorry for the short notice. But he can work around your schedule, whatever you have available in the next seven days.”

“Hmm. Quite a request.”

“I know, it’s bad form on my part.” Ardyn grinned even though she couldn’t see him. “But trust me, he pays well. And he is in dire need of your house special services.”

‘Well’ by Theresa’s standards was rather well indeed. Nothing to sneeze at. Ardyn let her think on that. 

Then he said, “This is practically a matter of life or death.” Even in that, there was no lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh whyyyy....this was supposed to be a one-shot. A one-shot, I say! How did I get to 11k in the first chapter and there hasn't even been any sex...we haven't even met our girl yet...what am I. Don't even answer that T___T 
> 
> I don't even know if anyone is going to read shit like this?? Still, I'm screaming into the void. Because I had a mighty need. All your fault Kalahari (aka carollsoul). 
> 
> If you did read this first chapter, thanks <3 <3 Hope you come again! (That's what Ardyn said to Regis, am I right? *ahem* Anyway...)


	2. Catkins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ardyn makes good on his plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Fran's nightie](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/16/77/ac/1677ac489d8a6e26777613661dd28aa6.jpg) It looks a lot like some of the outfits the viera wear in FFXII. Because final fantasy is problematic af. And now I'm writing porn. So....??? I don't even know.
> 
> Read the notes in the last chapter for TWs! But one more time: TW for some light transphobia towards the end.

**Chapter Two: Catkins**

Regis had something against Ardyn’s car. He didn’t quite know what, specifically. The pointless racing stripe down the front hood? The way it sat suspiciously low to the ground? The obnoxious magenta color? The inside that smelled of stale cigarettes and cheap cologne? (Dear lord, didn’t Noctis keep Ardyn on some kind of allowance? Couldn’t the man afford even slightly more expensive body spray? This was just offensive to the nose…) 

Or…was it the sneaking suspicion Regis could not shake that Ardyn had _had_ his son in this car at one point or another. ‘Had’ in the biblical sense. Yes, the way Ardyn smirked and chuckled, fondling the leather of the seats absentmindedly without any nod towards propriety….yes, Regis had no doubt about the kinds of activities this car had endured.

And here Regis was all the same. Sitting in that godforsaken car, letting Ardyn drive him to the massage parlor on an otherwise average Wednesday afternoon.

Regis honestly could not explain how he’d managed to survive until Wednesday. The hospital released him on Sunday, he’d spent Monday sleeping for the most part. Then Tuesday. Fucking hell, Tuesday had been one of the worst days of his life. He was not tired enough to sleep and simply spent the day tossing around looking desperately for activities. He’d tried everything from television to reading the dictionary, to drawing, to painting, to haphazardly cooking (almost burning himself in the process). All in the span of less than an hour! 

By the afternoon, Regis snuck back onto his work computer and tried to log in to his email account from home. Only to find that _someone_ (Clarus, undoubtedly) had changed all his passwords and locked him out. 

That damn Clarus…too clever for his own good! The only word Regis had gotten from his vice president ever since his breakdown was a quick, compulsory text on Sunday night.

**Clarus Amicitia:** Take some time and get well. I’ll keep an eye on things for now. 

That’s it! Two sentences! Not even an update on how things were doing in the company, how Regis’s collapse was being received! Not even a quick visit. Not even a call. Not even an email. Not even a voice memo…

So, Regis eventually found one way to spend his time: Stubbornly trying not to be hurt by Clarus’s actions. He was doing a damn good job of that! Or…mostly. 

At last, Wednesday. Not that Regis was looking forward to any of this massage parlor nonsense! No, he was dreading it! But, as predicted…it was nice to have some kind of appointment. Even a dreadful one. Something to pass the time.

He stayed silent through the whole car ride, sitting sort of slumped in his seat. Afraid to be seen from the window with the likes of Ardyn in the driver’s seat. Of course Ardyn noticed (he was surprisingly perceptive, all things considered), but he just chuckled and let it pass. A small mercy because they needed to actually leave the city to get to this place. A tucked away place in the further reaches of the nearest suburb. 

“Ah, here we are.” 

Finally Ardyn pulled into…what looked like a shopping mall. In the middle of suburbia. The fuck were the doing here? Regis caught sight of a mom-and-pop bakery, a grocery store, a post office, a pool supplies store. All smashed together in one bizarre strip. 

Not the most upscale environment, to be sure. Most disappointing. Especially after all Ardyn boasted about professionalism! 

Regis wrinkled his nose and sighed loudly as they parked the car. This was a mistake. He could feel it in his bones. Ardyn had taken him all the way the hell out into nowhere…to…to…ostensibly…

…What? Regis couldn’t figure out the other man’s motives. His thoughts, the workings of Ardyn’s inner mind, were beyond Regis. As they usually were. 

But Ardyn led on. Cheery, with a spring in his step! He walked casually into a store whose overhead sign read, “Perfect Harmony Zen Garden - Find your Zen!” in flowery script. A few bonsai trees decorated the front window. When they walked in, Regis saw no one. Sure, there were shelves offering various pruning implements and bonsai saplings. Tiny sand gardens and the like. Rocks on sale for exorbitant amounts.

Yet, no customers. Regis and Ardyn were the only ones in the tiny gardening store. There was a young woman sitting behind the counter around back, reading a magazine and looking fashionably bored. Dressed in a floral summer dress (the weather itself wasn’t too warm, but the inside of the store was sultry! A type of greenhouse effect, Regis guessed, for the plants), she sat with her legs crossed and her face in full make-up. Smoky eyes and bright red lipstick. Not at all appropriate for the drab surroundings. 

What on earth was going on here? 

“Hello there, dear,” Ardyn greeted foppishly. He nearly bowed at the waist. (Why was everything a _thing_ with this man? Why? Why not just a normal greeting—) “We have an appointment with Mother at 2:30.” 

The woman behind the counter lifted her gaze and delicately closed her magazine, setting aside as she rose to her feet. “Let me see if you are expected.” She turned and disappeared into the backroom. 

The door behind her was slightly open. Regis peered in and found nothing out of the ordinary. Just a small closet-sized room with a dirty mop and a shelf full of label-less cleaning supplies. 

He glanced around the store irritably. What kind of operation was this? And where exactly had that woman wandered off to?

Also, ‘Mother?’ Not that Regis found it likely (he’d done his own cursory research on Ardyn years ago and found that the man was estranged from his family), but was this woman…related to Ardyn in some way? Was she his—

No, no. Here, everything must mean something different. Coded ways of talking to conceal the illegality of this business.

Regis hated that he was involved in any of it. Why had he let Ardyn talk him into this….?

Suddenly the woman reappeared. She held the closet door open and nodded. “Right this way, please.” 

“Thank you.” Ardyn bowed again and marched into the closet. There was barely any space left for Regis, but he fit in behind the man. Too close for comfort and far closer than Regis ever thought he would be. (Ardyn smelled like his car, damn him.)

She closed the door. Leaving them in the dark for a moment. Regis felt more ridiculous than ever.

Then there was a rustling sound. Regis blinked as soft light filled the closet. The back panel of the closet—what he’d assumed was a wall, but was actually a flimsy piece of loose plywood—slid away and revealed a short, semi-dark hallway. Strange blue lighting lined the floor in long stripes. 

Ardyn sashayed down the hall, not even looking back to see if Regis was following him. He just assumed. Because where else was Regis going to go? The woman was already re-aligning the panel behind them. 

He walked forward.

The hallway opened into a closed door. Ardyn knocked once, then twice, then three more times in quick succession. Slowly, the door opened to reveal a lavish—yes, there was no other word to call it!—waiting room. Again, the only lights in the room were incandescent blue, shining from lamps and along the floor. They felt almost ultraviolet, but Regis checked and nothing was glowing in that eerie way. This place just had…blue lights. And long chaise lounges seated around a wide middle, where Ardyn happily sat. A gentle soundtrack played in the background, ocean waves crashing over a tinkling piano. There was another closed door at the front of the room, and the rest of the walls had built-in aquariums where tropical fish floated blithely.

Nothing about this place seemed to fit. 

Somehow, underground, beneath an otherwise nondescript gardening supply store, there was an entire massage parlor with all the upscale accoutrements one could think of. 

It was obscenely gratuitous. Flashy and… _modern_. Fabulously concealed (Regis had to give them that). But implicitly forbidden because of all the extra care that had been taken to hide this place. Something about this bizarre waiting room—besides the lights and the fish and the weird music and Ardyn—made Regis feel…ill at ease. 

He sat stoically next to Ardyn. 

“Not what you were expecting, hmm?” Ardyn asked cockily. He brushed his wispy bangs from his face and grinned. 

“I…can’t say I’ve ever seen something like this before.” Regis wasn’t even embarrassed to admit that. How could honest hard-working people conceive of a place like this? It was beyond belief! 

His steely eyes cut to Ardyn mercilessly. “And if this backfires on me in any way, shape, or form…” He didn’t even bother to finish that.

“Yes, yes, understood.” Ardyn spread his arms over the back of the couch, effortlessly comfortable. “No need for threats. Everything will work out…swimmingly.” 

Regis couldn’t help feeling like Ardyn came up with that word— _swimmingly_ of all things—because he was watching the fish in the wall. The aquariums did evoke a certain…nautical sense.

What the hell was any of this. Regis crossed his arms in self-defense and leaned back. Hopefully this could all wash over him and—no, no more marine-inspired turns of phrase! 

After twenty minutes or so—an uncomfortable, teeth-clenching twenty minutes—a woman emerged from the second closed door. She wore a fit black dress and an open, buttoned-down blazer, black with gold buttons. She stomped gracefully (if noisily) across the room in strap-on stiletto sandals. Opening her arms wide as if inviting an embrace.

“Ardyn, how lovely to see you.” Her voice was deep. A pleasant alto.

“Theresa, my dear, dear friend.” Ardyn jumped to his feet and wrapped her in a hug. Not warm, but not cold either. A _professional_ hug.

Something about this woman gave Regis the feeling of doing business. She was a businesswoman, plain and simple. He could smell that air on someone miles and away and she—whoever she was—had it in spades. 

Ardyn stepped aside to introduce her. “Regis, come over. Don’t be shy now. We’re all family here. This is Mother Theresa.” He grinned wildly, as if jokes like this were his passion in life (perhaps they were). “She’s here to save you.” 

Hesitantly, Regis approached and extended a stiff hand to…Theresa (he would not call her ‘mother,’ that was just wrong). Sizing him up with a flick of her eyes, Theresa nodded and shook his hand. Not dainty or womanly, but strong. Confident. Were they at the office, Regis would have reminded himself to be cautious around her. For she gave off the aura of a formidable opponent. 

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Caelum,” Theresa drawled. She did not mince words, but she did not hurry her speech either. She took precisely as much time as she needed. “Ardyn has told me much about you.”

Regis glanced at Ardyn warily. Exactly how much had Ardyn said? Not too much, surely…? Not the medical problems and all that? 

Oh, damn. Why hadn’t Regis created terms of agreement for all this? He should have told Ardyn exactly what was allowed before he let the other man set it up. Now anything could be out in the open…

“Let’s go into my office, shall we?” Theresa turned on her heels and ushered them into a second hallway. How long was this place? Many rooms dotted the walls, like an underground maze.

Thankfully, the woman’s so-called ‘office’ was lit with normal white light. A breath of fresh air after that disorienting waiting room. It was slightly cramped, mostly because Theresa’s desk took up the majority of the available space. A grandiose mahogany affair (Regis approved, in spite of himself. The woman clearly had good taste). Theresa gathered her dress and sat behind the desk, inviting the two men to sit in the cushioned chairs across from her. 

With his sense of vision restored, Regis got a better read on Theresa. She was quite possibly as old as Regis himself, but her skin was rather well cared for. And her pale face was serious, quietly smiling (which looked like her natural state). She kept her mousy brown hair swept into a loose bun. Pleasantly made-up, but nothing garish. All natural tones and appealing contour around her cheeks. 

In business, she’d be a shark. Regis knew that right away. She already dressed the part. Now, what in heaven’s name was she about to offer him?

“So.” Theresa laid her hands flat on the table. Regis could see her long nails were painted black. An odd choice for someone otherwise so traditional-looking. “Ardyn tells me you’re here for our house special services. A fine choice, if I do say so myself."

Regis glanced again at Ardyn. House-special? He had no idea what that entailed. Although, to be fair, he had _some_ idea.

Oh god. This was really happening, wasn’t it? He was here. Face to face with a…well, a madam, in point of fact. A female pimp. A woman who held no compunctions about running an underground illegal massage parlor. And he was here to pay (possibly quite well) for her services.

How on earth had he ended up in this position? Keeping company with a woman like this? With Ardyn, who considered her a _friend_? If he traced his steps back to the very beginning of his life, he’d never see the trajectory coming—

“Before we begin, I need to ask you some preliminary questions,” Theresa explained, pulling a notepad and pen in front of her. “To help me know which of our professionals would best suit your needs. And of course, what exactly will be included in your care package.”

She spoke like the manager of a hotel. Or a spa. Which she…was, in a sense.

“I think we need the all-inclusive package, darling,” Ardyn piped up. Speaking for Regis. Putting words in his mouth. “The head to toe, if I remember correctly.”

Theresa’s smile widened. “You do. And yes, that’ll be fine.” She looked at Regis directly now. “Mr. Caelum, consent goes a long way with us at Perfect Harmony. You understand you’re here for a full-body massage, correct?”

“…Yes.” Regis’s voice was barely above a murmur. 

“With additional services added on at the end. The specifics of which you quite understand, yes?” 

Finally, someone who could tactfully beat around the bush! “Yes,” Regis answered. (Of course, he had no intention of actually taking advantage of those particular services. He planned on ending the whole thing after the massage, even if he paid for the ‘happy ending’ in front of Ardyn.) 

“Wonderful.” Theresa pulled a contract from somewhere. “Sign here, please.” 

Regis’s hands tightened. He didn’t know there’d be a contract! He didn’t want to put his name on anything! He whipped around to face Ardyn with more anger than was healthy for him.

“It’s a standard nondisclosure agreement and a liability waver,” Ardyn explained, literally waving his hand at the matter. “Just sign the thing and let us move on.” 

Regis quickly read over the fine print. He couldn’t believe he was thinking about signing something—but then again, an NDA…well, maybe he did actually need one of those. The contract specified ‘both parties,’ which must mean himself included. 

“Discretion is how we stay afloat, Mr. Caelum,” Theresa lectured. “It’s the same for you, isn’t it?”

His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. That…she had him there. That was true. He needed ‘Mother Theresa’s’ discretion as much as he was sure they all needed his. Tit for tat. Signing into a double indemnity clause. 

Fair enough.

Regis scrawled his signature onto the paper, pretending his hand wasn’t shaking so horribly. (Why hadn’t that gotten any better since he’d been away from work?)

“Wonderful.” Theresa tucked the contract into a drawer. Whisking away a huge chunk of Regis’s reputation, should she choose. “Now, let us talk specifics. Your massage therapist. Would you prefer to work with a man or a woman?”

“A woman, please.” 

Regis hadn’t known ‘male’ was on the table, and the thought that he’d needed to specify set him on pins and needles. Although he supposed it was reasonable. Different clients must have different tastes. Ardyn’s association with this place implied as much. But Regis could barely stomach the thought of anyone touching him so intimately, nonetheless a _man_. 

He had nothing against gay men, of course. His son was…well! These days Regis even nominally advocated for the advancement of LGBT rights. For publicity, mostly, and for Noctis. But Regis was as straight as it was possible to be. Never a wandering eye, never a stray thought into the realm of men.

This late in his life, Regis had no interest in testing the waters of his sexuality. If he was going to get through this day, he at least needed to be with a woman. 

“Understood. We have quite a selection, of course.” Theresa made a note on her paper. “Do you have any preference for appearance? Skin, hair, height, weight, age?”

Regis shook his head no. Forcing his face to appear blank. He did, of course, have certain preferences, but. Nothing he was willing to say in front of Ardyn. 

Theresa narrowed her eyes in suspicion. She waited a moment, then shrugged. “Alright, fine. I’m going to ask you some personal questions now. How old are you, Mr. Caelum?” 

“….50,” Regis spat. He rounded down. A round number like 50 sounded better than 56. No real reason. It just did.

Theresa made another note. “Have you ever had an intensive full-body massage before?” 

“….No.” 

“Are you someone who normally goes to the spa for treatments? Even basic massages or aroma therapy?” 

“No.” Regis crossed his arms again. He was doing that a lot today.

“Alright.” Theresa glanced up at the both of them. “Now, Ardyn tells me you have some…medical problems. Things affecting your health?” 

Regis glared at Ardyn wordlessly. “Yes. Nothing serious,” he said to Theresa. 

“Glad to hear it.” Theresa leaned back in her chair. “But since it seems to be related to your heart, I’ll need to remind you of that liability waiver you just signed.”

“Yes, yes.” Regis glanced around aimlessly. Ironically enough, Theresa had a small zen garden on her desk.

“And should anything happen, I’m listing Ardyn as your next of kin. He’ll be responsible for making any medical decisions in your stead.” 

“…Fine.” Regis was interested in speeding all this up. He doubted he’d die right there on the massage table. And even if he did, the thought of dying was preferable to the thought of leaving _Ardyn_ in charge of his medical care. 

Heaven strike him down.

Theresa nodded and scribbled furiously in her notepad. “Very well. In that case, I have a particular therapist in mind for you, one whom I think you’ll like very much. She’s comfortable servicing our well-seasoned clients. And she has a gentle touch, but not too gentle of course. Perfect for a first-timer.” 

By ‘well-seasoned’ Regis was pretty sure she meant ‘old.’ That shouldn’t have hurt his pride as much as it did. After all, what other kind of men were in here getting ‘serviced?’ Young men looking for a quick jerk…actually, yeah. That was probably the case. 

Regis wilted where he sat. He shouldn’t have lied about his age. He was clearly older than 50. So when he said that, Theresa probably wrote down 60 instead. It looked more accurate and was closer to the truth. 

Now he felt foolish. 

“Considering her rates, and the general rate for the services you’re requesting, the price will be…this much.” 

Theresa passed the notepad towards Regis. Before he could see the number, Ardyn intercepted the pad and pulled it towards himself. Blocking Regis’s view.

“Yes, excellent,” Ardyn said, passing it back face down. “That’ll do. Regis, hand your credit card over to the nice lady.” 

“Ugh.” Regis couldn’t stop the sound from escaping his mouth. He never, ever did this. Never! Handing over his credit card without any idea how much he was being charged. It was like asking to be robbed, to be played for a complete fool! And how could he trust Theresa, or this whole damn place? Full of false doors and cryptic coding. 

But…maybe it was because this place itself was so…unique. So untrustworthy and yet…particular. Doing such a crazy thing in a place like this…it made sense. There was a weird feeling in the air, and inside Regis. The feeling that he needed to _see._ To…do. _Something_.

He needed to see this through to the end at least. Wherever it took him. He was strangely compelled to! 

He wished he knew why.

Still, he handed over his credit card.

Instead of charging him right then and there, Theresa folded his card into her hand and announced, “I’ll hold onto this until you’re finished. You can sign for your services afterwards.” 

A con if Regis ever saw one. They waited until he was loose and ‘relaxed’ (unstrung from the ‘massage’) to show him the bill. Of course. A child could have thought it up. 

But he didn’t fight it. 

What on earth was wrong with him? Regis rubbed his forehead. Maybe it was all the scented candles they had burning around here. In the waiting room and even in Theresa’s office. He’d thought nothing of it at first, but now he couldn’t get the smell out of his nostrils. Lavender and tea leaves. Mixed with a scent he recognized but couldn’t name. Something nostalgic…what was it again? 

He felt distantly foggy. This was all too new for him, too different. And he was still recovering from his collapse, which happened not even a week ago. Dizziness accosted him at the strangest times still. 

Perhaps now was just one of those times.

“Let me go inform your therapist she has a new client,” Theresa said. That smile on her face was almost unnerving. “Give her some time to set up her room.” She excused herself quickly, leaving Regis and Ardyn alone.

Regis heaved a tired sigh. He was suddenly bizarrely glad that Ardyn was there. As duplicitous as Ardyn could be—was, really—at least he knew the man. If he was alone here, with strangers, feeling as out of sorts as he did…there was no telling what might happen to him. 

And at the end of the day, Ardyn really was his son-in-law. Wasn’t he? The man who had saved Regis’s son with a surprisingly predictable life. Therapy, a good job, a good relationship. 

In spite of how much he disliked what Ardyn was—what he stood for—Regis trusted him. He probably needed to get his head examined, but. He trusted him.

And now he was about to be handed over to God only knew what kind of experience.

Regis leaned closer to Ardyn. Even though they were apparently alone. “Don’t let them charge me for anything I don’t need, alright?” 

“Of course.” Ardyn patted Regis’s hand. Wait, since when had Regis put his hand on the man’s arm? They never touched like this. They weren’t close or anything… 

“Leave all of that to me,” Ardyn promised. “I’ll handle everything. You just go and enjoy yourself, alright?” 

His golden eyes were shining so brightly. He lived for this, Regis could tell. Getting people off. Regis would have thought it was all a huge scam except…Noctis…Ardyn truly helped Noctis in the end, hadn’t he? Not because he had to (Lord knew Noctis would have given him everything without a second’s hesitation), but because he wanted to. 

Regis squeezed Ardyn’s arm a little tighter. 

He was nervous. 

And yes, that was ridiculous. For all he had considered this, Regis never thought he’d be nervous when the time finally came. Except…it was hard to know what would happen to him once he went into those other rooms. A woman—presumably a very attractive woman—would be touching him. _Intimately_. For the first time in more than ten years. He’d be naked and at her mercy…would she be skittish? Too young? Wearing too much make-up? Amateurish?

Regis had imagined she would be like that before they came here. He knew the type of women in this business, after all. But now…with all of this artifice in the waiting room, Theresa herself…he didn’t think so. No. Regis had no idea _what_ he might encounter in the next room. 

That uncertainty was…nerve-wracking. Regis hadn’t done something where he couldn’t predict the outcome in at least a decade. Longer, maybe. 

She’ll be plain, Regis told himself. A skinny slip of a thing. Barely able to hold herself up on the stilettos Theresa must make her wear. A disappointment. 

Yes.

Disappointment was the best possible outcome here. It was safe. Predictable. Well inside Regis’s comfort zone.

When Theresa reappeared, Regis found himself hoping against all hope (berating himself in his mind, yelling stubbornly in the space between his ears) that his ‘therapist’ would be underwhelming.

“Come with me, Mr. Caelum,” Theresa offered, swinging the door wide open. She nodded at Ardyn with hooded eyes.

“Alright! I’ll be in the waiting room.” Ardyn patted Regis on the back, helping the older man to his feet. “See you on the other side.” He winked at him, but Regis did not see it as facetious. No, for once he saw it as conspiratorial. Meaningful. If Regis needed anything, Ardyn would be just outside. 

He nodded back and followed Theresa on unsteady feet. His heart sped up when he heard the door to the waiting room close behind Ardyn. 

This was…happening. He was really going through with this. 

Theresa sauntered calmly to a room with the number 9 on it. She knocked politely (everything in Perfect Harmony was done with knocks, Regis noticed). 

“Yes, I’m ready. Come in.” 

Regis’s ears perked up at the muffled voice on the other side of the door. Right away he noticed she spoke with some kind of accent. He couldn’t quite place it, but it was easily discernible. An emphasis on the ‘r,’ a high nasal lilt at the end of each sentence. Almost like she was asking questions instead of giving orders. 

Theresa opened the door and stepped through. She stood to the side to make space for Regis, giving him a full-view of the woman who was to be his ‘therapist.’

She was…..oh. 

Oh.

Oh, no. She was gorgeous. 

“This is Fran,” Theresa announced. “One of our most skilled therapists. She’ll be taking care of you today, Mr. Caelum. Now, Fran, you’re the expert. How shall we get started?” 

Fran took a step closer to Regis. He would have taken a step back in sheer reflex, had he not been frozen to the floor. As it was, all he could do was stand there and swallow dumbly. Waiting for Fran to give some kind of diagnosis. Just waiting.

Fran was…beautiful. In a word. Unfairly beautiful, really. She had long, bushy white hair all the way down her back. Alert, reddish brown eyes (sizing Regis up with several unimpassioned flicks). Her skin was smooth, silky, and brown. Like crushed cinnamon, or smoky quartz. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she sparkled in the sun just like a gemstone. Or if she had a scent like…

“Hmm. Some time in the sauna first, I think,” Fran prescribed thoughtfully. She was still staring at Regis.

She had a small, peach-shaped face. A cute nose sat right in the middle of her face, as intelligent and petite as the rest of her.Yes, Fran was thin but lean. Every ounce of her appeared to be fitted with muscle. Toned like a gymnast.

But damn, she was tall! Regis glanced down (her legs were like two sturdy saplings, ones that might bend in the breeze but would never break) and saw that she was wearing stilettos (and that she was easily a whole head taller than him). Strap-on sandals as well. Her toenails were painted white.

Almost as an afterthought, Regis noticed what she was wearing. He would have looked away because it was…indecent—that is, if he were at all capable of such a thing. But alas, he was not. No, his eyes were shamelessly glued to Fran in the most unflattering way. He couldn’t help it.

This woman…she was…

Awe-inspiring. The sight of her rendered him completely speechless.

Was she real? A real person?

What on earth was she doing down here, in this sunless dungeon? Shouldn’t she be up there basking in the limelight? A model or a famous actress? That’s what beautiful people did, didn’t they? 

Instead Fran was here. Staring at him. Unsmiling. Serious, but not in a dour way. She just seemed to take the affair seriously. As if this were a legitimate kind of work. A business. And she was a professional. 

A professional who just happened to be wearing a transparent, white mesh nightie. A tiny see-through dress that went down only to the very top of her thighs. Just past her underwear, which Regis could clearly see. A white lace g-string. Complete with a miniature bow along the top hemline, kissing the underside of her flat stomach. She was not wearing a bra, but the mesh along her cleavage was a little thicker. Teasing. So Regis could only see the outline of her breasts and the darkness of her nipples. A vague whisper beneath the fabric.

He…

…didn’t quite…

…know what to…

“Yes, I think that’s a great idea, Fran.” Theresa nodded with a devilish grin. Similar to Ardyn’s, Regis would have noted, if he’d been looking anywhere near her. “I’ll leave you to it!” She made her exit, closing the door quietly behind her.

Regis was aware he was just standing there. Ogling. His eyes like saucers. And that was rude and Fran was clearly a lady with some class—one did not possess a body and a self-confident, gracefully poised air like she did without also managing at least some dignity, in spite of everything. So Regis knew he should be saying something. Introduce himself. Offer up some words about how it was nice to meet her, the standard greeting. 

But…for pity’s sake.

He needed a moment. 

This magnificent woman—Fran, her name was, so simple and yet oddly perfect, no frills or unnecessary garnishing, to the point, just like the woman herself—standing there…like that…Regis’s eyes had not encountered anything so starkly jaw-dropping in quite some time. Many, many years. He could feel the scales almost literally falling from his eyes. 

Saliva pooled in the front of his mouth. He wanted to…if he could only just…oh god, he was sweating so much. His armpits were soaked. He was a mess. He hadn’t even said anything yet!

He swallowed hard, audibly this time. Yet another sign that he was completely out of his mind. He needed to collect himself. Really, at his age! He’d met beautiful women before. Of course! Countless times! Just none so…not like this…

Rudely clearing his throat, more of a grunt than anything, Regis relied on instinct. He held up his hand awkwardly for Fran to shake. She was a professional, obviously. He was her client. So. They should meet on civil terms. 

Fran stared at his hand. Eyes flickering with silent thoughts. She did not take it. Instead, she flipped a chunk of her wild white hair behind her shoulder.

Her hands were…large, Regis noticed. Slim and dainty like the rest of her. But…long-fingered. Regis was entranced by them in spite of his best efforts to look somewhere else (like at her…no, in fact. Nowhere on Fran was safe to look at. He might lose himself just as easily.) 

Ignoring his hand, which hovered in the air unsure of itself, Fran walked to a long table in the middle of the room. A massage table. There was a u-shaped cradle for a client’s head and a small tea-towel folded on top. Fran picked up the towel.

Oh no. No, for the love of sanity…Regis could not look at her backside. He caught a glimpse and had to avert his eyes immediately. Or else he might have fallen to his knees with the need to worship.

Yes, alright? Hang him! String him up by all his flaws and let the dogs take him—Regis was an ass man! He would admit it! If only in his private thoughts. A curved, well-shaped, comfortably meaty behind never failed to get Regis worked up. Even at this age. If some of his secretly favorited porn videos had titles like, “Sweet Ass Mamas,” or “Big Butted Girls Bend Over, Then Bounce on a Hard Cock,” well then. That was his own business! 

Not like Regis had watched those videos in years, anyway. But he was pretty sure he still had them favorited. As an aesthetic choice more than anything else. 

He felt a distant stirring somewhere below the waist. Not an actual _feeling_ , not a reaction in any real sense. (Nothing like what Regis wanted to have in this moment, or could have had if he were twenty years younger.) More like a memory. As if his manhood remembered what being hard felt like. Suddenly now more sweetly than it normally did. 

Just a passing glimpse of sensation. Nothing more. It was gone as soon as Fran turned back around and Regis remembered himself. 

Fran peered at him. Curiosity in her face. She held up the towel, eyes darting all over Regis’s figurefor some kind of information. An explanation maybe. 

Regis still hadn’t said anything. And he was very pointedly looking away from her.

Yeah. He knew he was handling badly. Probably more awkward than any of Fran’s previous clients. Of course. Regis had long since forgotten how to act around women. Women he was attracted to, anyway. That part of him wasn’t at a functioning level anymore. 

So he was fumbling.

“…Get undressed,” Fran offered. Blunt. Matter of fact. That’s what she was, it seemed. Unable to be anything other simply stated. “Everything. You can put your clothes in the drawer on the table. Take this towel. Wrap it around your waist. When you’re ready, come outside and I’ll show you the way to the sauna.” 

When she was done explaining, Fran walked out. No cheap words. No coquettish grins or flirting. Not even any polite smiles. Just…plain orders. That’s how Fran operated. She didn’t put on airs. She didn’t pretend there was anything else going on.

She was focused. Remarkably so.

Regis could smell her now. The scent in her hair as she passed. Like sandalwood and citrus…it was quite a heady smell. Regis’s heart fluttered, his stomach sinking way down past his knees. He wanted to follow her. That smell. He inhaled deeply before he could stop himself…

Oh. It really was so unfair.

Fran was so far from what he’d expected. An attractive, well-fit, no-nonsense woman. Perfect. In every sense! As if Theresa had somehow read his mind when she picked the girl for him. She’d tapped into his most direct list of preferences, some of which Regis didn’t even know he had! (The ass part, yes, the unshakeable sense of authority, also yes, but everything else….) 

Fran was an anomaly. A once in a lifetime kind of beauty. Whose job it was to blow his mind. 

Regis dragged his hands down his face. He needed to hold onto some shred of dignity here. He undressed himself with shaky hands, hesitating when he got to his Calvin Klein boxers. To bare himself here was inviting Fran to see him when it came time to…

No, but, Regis would be covered in a towel the whole time. He’d enjoy what he could from the massage—oh lord, was he really going to endure that?—and then he’d send Fran on her way. He wouldn’t let her see him, not like this. The shriveled, useless old man he’d become over the years. No. His pride wouldn’t be able to take that. It’d be one thing if Fran was some knobby-kneed girl with no idea what she was doing, then Regis could say he turned her away out of kindness. (And of _course_ he wouldn’t be able to get it up, because what could possibly arouse him about a girl in a position over which she had no control? No shame in that.)

But no. With _her_? Fran, whatever she was (some kind of sculpted masterpiece)? Regis had no excuse for his impotence in the presence of Fran, except for the obvious truth of his age and withered vigor. He’d be turning away from her in humility. 

So he needed to make sure they stopped long before it got to that point. He didn’t want her to see him in that light. If he had to be a client—a pathetic old man who paid for time with a beautiful woman—then he must at least strive to be a dignified client. One who knew his own limitations and didn’t subject graceful women to his own failings. 

He tied the towel around his waist as tightly as he could. 

(This was going to hurt him either way, wasn’t it? More pain. More senseless torture for his poor body…)

Once more unto the breach, then.

He stuck his head out of the door. Fran was waiting for him, standing casually against the wall. Practically a decorative willow tree rather than a person. But her eyes. No, Fran was unmistakably real. Sharp. Perceptive. Ready. All of that unfiltered focus she exuded seemingly without any effort. 

Her white hair shone brilliantly in the strange blue lighting. Fluffy. It swished in the air as she walked. Regis wanted to touch it so badly…he was sure it would feel like silk. Thick strands, high volume. Soft but dense. He wanted to run his fingers through…

Why was this happening to him? Regis wasn’t like this! He didn’t go doe-eyed over women, no matter how beautiful! Not him! Not since…

In a previous lifetime. Boyhood, practically. The first carefree years of his adult life. When tall, strikingly poised women had exactly that effect on him. 

That was forever ago. 

“Here we are.” Fran opened a heavy door with a thick rush of steam. “The sauna. I’ll keep at 80 degrees Celsius for you. A nice temperature to start.” 

That sounded hot. But Regis was really too tired to consider it. 

“Fifteen minutes should be enough,” Fran thought aloud, touching her long fingers to her chin. “Then you’ll soak in the bath. Then, I’ll work on you.” 

He stared at her. She wasn’t looking at his body, at his bare chest. She was fiddling with the thermostat on the steam room. When she turned back to him, her eyes lingered directly on his own.

Eye contact. Unashamed. Unhesitant. 

She wasn’t afraid or intimidated by him. Nor was she deflecting from the strangeness of the situation with a mask of humor (like Ardyn always did). She was just…looking at him.

Regis couldn’t remember the last time someone looked straight at him like that. Without pretense. 

“Go in.” Fran was holding the door open for him. She shifted her weight, her hip sliding to the side gracefully, the picture of femininity highlighted by the scant nightie and the…g-string. 

Regis stumbled over his feet on his way into the sauna. He would have gone anywhere she asked, but…oh. This. Once the door closed he finally realized where exactly he’d willingly gone.

A place where he was supposed to sweat everything out. And he was already well on his way! The heat was overbearing. It permeated his skin and his mind, slowed down his thoughts. Sat on his chest like a weight. It took all of Regis’s energy just to focus on breathing. Or else he might pass out right then and there.

Just breathe. His skin became damp and squishy. He just needed to breathe.

He closed his eyes. Settling into his seat. Melting. 

What felt like a second later—had it really been fifteen whole minutes? How on earth…?—Fran opened the door and let a rush of coldness in behind her. Regis shivered, confused at how he could be so hot and so cold at the same time. Fortunately, Fran brought a robe with her. She wrapped it around his shoulders and took him by the hand.

His mind had stopped working. Almost completely. It had melted. Sunk into the wooden bench where he was sitting, like the rest of his sweat. 

Regis was incapable of any real thought as Fran led him from the sauna into an adjacent room. A washroom. There was a pool of water imbedded into the floor and a bunch of towels on the wall. A black rug lined the lip of the pool. It tickled his feet when Fran stood him there. 

He looked back at her. Completely mute. Her hands were cool on his skin. Refreshing after the intensity of that heat. He could breathe again, at least. The air wasn’t quite so thick anymore.

Fran removed the bathrobe and held Regis’s hand. “Step in,” she ordered. So Regis stepped into the sunken pool. The water was warm—probably hot, but Regis wasn’t registering temperatures properly. It felt perfect against his overheated flesh. 

“Sink all the way down.” Fran pushed on his shoulders until Regis was immersed all the way up to his chin. 

There was a delightful floral scent to the water, hovering over a layer of sulfur. So, a mineral soak. Regis had never partaken in a treated bath, but he’d heard about them before. The water was kind of…rough on his skin. It tingled the soles of his feet and the tops of his knees. Places that were not used to any kind of sensation. 

Fran held up a washcloth. She lathered a bar of soap into the cloth until it was overflowing with suds. “I’m going to pass this over you. The parts of you with dead skin, I will be rough. The rest, I will be quick.” 

Her words were rhythmic and metered. Perhaps not…perfectly phrased? The accent clouded Regis’s ears. But it was lovely. 

Musical. And so very perfect for her. 

He watched distantly as her hands disappeared beneath the water. Where his body was. He twitched as he felt the washcloth slither across his shoulder, underneath his arms. Like a living thing. And Fran’s other hand on his arm, steadying him. Holding him in place.

She scrubbed his elbows. His knees. His feet, even the ugly parts he did not want to touch himself. Even there. Fran scrubbed him until his old flesh fell away, unearthing new, pinkish, soft flesh underneath. It kind of hurt—Regis never washed himself this thoroughly—but it also kind of…tickled. Especially around his feet. Which he was fairly certain had never felt anything other than weariness from carrying around his weary form for 5 years. 

Regis almost giggled. Such a strange feeling! But he caught himself at the last moment. 

The other thing was…Fran was leaning over him to reach his feet. He could feel the underside of her breasts kissing the top of his head. Soft and pliant. Real women’s flesh, not a hint of plastic (which he had not been sure to expect either, honestly). He wanted—oh he should!—to tilt his face upwards. Let her breasts fall right into his mouth—

The thought made him moan. Not…too loudly (he hoped). Sort of quietly. But definitely there. Yes, he was sitting in the bath, getting scrubbed by a stranger, and moaning at the thought of putting his mouth on her body…

Would she let him? He hadn’t even said one word to her yet.

No, no he shouldn’t. Not yet. That was what a lousy pervert might do, a move like that. Catching Fran off guard and sucking on the bottom of her tit. Sure, he wanted to! But he was a but more self-governed than that! 

He had to be. 

Besides he hadn’t paid for…. _that_ , had he? What exactly was the complete package?

What the fuck did he know. This whole thing was ridiculous.

All those thoughts aside, Regis just closed his eyes and enjoyed the moment. Fran gently poured a cup of hot water over Regis’s head. Was it almost over? Because it didn’t have to be, necessarily! This was fine right here. Regis was inadvertently leaning his head against Fran’s taut stomach. Even that level of contact was…overwhelming.

Her smell was everywhere. 

Then her bare hands slipped down the side of his neck. To the front of his chest. Her _bare_ hands! 

Regis gasped and sputtered, sitting straight up (almost colliding the top of his head with Fran’s chin). He hadn’t thought…she would…so suddenly! 

“…Apologies,” Fran murmured, shaking her hands dry. The front of her nightie was wet, but she didn’t seem to care. (Regis stared at the stain helplessly, he could see all of her stomach now. Like looking through glass.) “I didn’t think you would be quite so sensitive.” 

“I’m…” Finally, Regis said something. And it was a half-muttered lie. He was about to say he wasn’t—he wasn’t _that_ sensitive, really—but of course that wasn’t the truth. He’d nearly jumped out of his skin when Fran touched his chest. 

That was the type of intimacy he’d been afraid of. The one he wasn’t sure how to handle. What to _do_ with. How to let himself feel. 

But he was already talking. So he might as well say something even marginally coherent. 

“…I’m…sorry I almost…bumped into you…” Regis stuttered. He was looking at the tile floor. Focusing on the pattern, feeling Fran’s eyes boring into his face.

Apologies always sounded weird from his mouth. This was certainly no exception.

“It’s alright.” Fran rose to her feet. If he looked up, he could see under her nightie—

He closed his eyes instead. It took all of his willpower, but. He refused to be so horribly male. Searching for discarded crumbs from the table of this woman’s banquet. Infantile, really.

…Decorum! He needed to show some sense of decorum….even though Fran’s body was like a three course meal and Regis hadn’t eaten in ten years. Yes, even then. Decorum, damn it all!

“Come. On your feet. It’s time.” Fran held her hands out to help Regis to stand. He took them, even though it was wrong to lean on woman. Not even one as athletically inclined as Fran.

When he stepped out of the pool, Regis nearly slipped. Thankfully the rug—and Fran’s long arms—caught his fall. Just that it was slippery and his knees were weak from having been so thoroughly scrubbed…and so warm…cradled by heat and water…! He wasn’t in full control of his faculties yet. 

He clung to Fran’s shoulders. “I’ve got you,” she said in his ear. “Stand up.” 

…Right. So much for decorum. Well, he’d given it a running start anyway. He glanced down and realized he was still wearing the tea towel from earlier. Had been the whole time, in the sauna and the bath. A scrap of modesty. 

Until now.

While Regis watched in frozen horror, the towel slid down his waist. It was weighed down by water and came unstuck when he slipped. He reached for it futilely and squeezed his eyes closed when it hit the water.

Now he was naked. And Fran could see all of him. 

Regis felt like a useless pile of skin. Unsightly. Ungainly. Graceless. The antithesis to everything Fran was. If she were any other woman, she would have been laughing at him already. At this pale useless thing in front of her. A scrap of a man. A shadow of an idea.

Regis hung his head in shame.

He was nothing. He knew that. It was a truth he ran from his whole life. He had not been the world’s greatest husband, was total shit as a father, and a pain in the ass to work for. His worth existed in the reflection of what he presented to the world, but. Without that? Without the power granted to him by his life’s work? What the hell was he? 

Nothing.

He bent down to pick up the towel. He should at least cover himself…

Fran laid her hands on his shoulders. Gently. Barely there. But enough to stop him. He looked up at her, rife with hesitation.

“Leave it,” she said. “We have many others. Just come stand on the rug.”

Regis did as he was told. He was captivated by her again. Her face looked different. Lighter. Less serious. More at ease. She wasn’t smiling, but she seemed now like she was capable of it. 

“You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?” Fran held onto his hand as she leaned over to retrieve a dry towel. Intent in her movements, she wrapped the towel around his waist. Tight and efficient. But never enough to cause him discomfort.

“That’s fine,” she continued. She took another towel and dried his patchy, age-worn skin carefully. “Take time to yourself. As much as you like. But if you need something from me…” She placed her fingertips against the side of his face.

It was like being touched by lightning. Regis shook from head to toe. Her touch was…alarming. Powerful. Magnetizing. He couldn’t help staring stupidly at her face. Waiting for her to finish her thought. 

“…You should let me know. Yes?”

“…A-alright…” Regis stammered. He didn’t normally stutter like this. But in her presence, with everything going on around him, and inside him…all these feelings he wasn’t used to dealing with cropping up suddenly (why now, of all the times?). 

He did not have himself together. He’d lost all hope of that. Now, he’d just have to follow Fran’s lead.

She looked like she knew what she was doing. Her hands were quite…capable. He already knew somewhat how they felt on his body. And he…liked it. Her hands made him feel things—sensations all across his body. Where he ought to feel nothing. As he had for so very long. 

“To my room?” Fran asked (or at least, Regis believed she asked). But she took him by the hand and led him without waiting for an answer.

Holding her hand did not feel natural. It couldn’t be! How could such a simple thing set his heart to hammering? His face sweating, his feet tripping as they tried to keep up with her confident stride? Holding hands was…he hadn’t even done that back then…and now…

He liked it. Far too much for his own good.

What was going to become of him? In this strange place? With all these strange feelings?

Back in Fran’s room, she told Regis to lay on his stomach. He moved lopsidedly into position. His legs still not working the right way. (But his bum knee…didn’t hurt, actually. In spite of everything. He just felt too loose overall.)

His head fit into the cradle. He couldn’t look around like this. Could only stare at the floor. Fran told him to lay his arms flat on either side of his body. So he did. Then he waited for Fran to be ready.

She lit candles around the room. The same lavender and tea leaves combination that made Regis’s head spin. What _was_ this scent? How could it be here? Now? Why couldn’t he put his finger on the name…?

She also put on some music. Not some new age farce, but actual music. Classical. Proper strings and a piano. Not that Regis knew the name of the piece or even the century, but even so. It was vaguely familiar to him. And in that familiarity it was comforting. Somehow.

“The sauna loosens your muscles,” Fran explained. She was clamoring around with various implements, squishing something audibly between her fingers. “The bath cleans your skin. It’s a quick cleanse. A way to get the unwanted things out of your system. Before we put in more good things. And, in your case…” 

She was at Regis’s side now. “If I were to touch you without any prep whatsoever, I would have hurt you. Terribly. So this is what we must do. Here’s the first touch.” She laid her palm on his back. Between his shoulder blades.

He exhaled. He had actually been dreading that for some time now. But, after the bath (and all its weirdness) Regis was…used to her hands. He recognized her fingers. They weren’t so foreign to him anymore. 

And they felt nice. Sliding up his spine. Poking around the muscles underneath his shoulders.

“Yes, far too tense,” Fran quipped. “You carry yourself hunched. Do you notice?”

Regis’s eyes were closed. “…No…” he said weakly, exhaling when Fran laid both her hands on his shoulders. Beginning the first few passes of a real massage. 

Just starting to work him out. Regis clenched, awaiting the pain that would surely come. But it did not. No, Fran’s well-oiled hands rubbed him to the bone and somehow his body wasn’t shrinking away in disgust and discomfort. 

Was this what she meant about the sauna? The fact that it loosened him? 

Yes, it must be. Because Regis knew his body (unfortunately well) and it was not used to this kind of touching. Nothing like it…so all that prep work must have done something. The sauna, the bath. _Something_. 

And Fran…

Regis groaned as Fran pressed hard on the muscles near the back of his neck. She was going deep. Very deep. Reaching to the innermost parts of him—Regis braced for the feeling of being violated. He expected as much! He had no desire to be manhandled for that reason. It was a personal violation—

And yet that did not come either. 

No. Fran’s hands were smooth and quick. Succinct. Moving over him with surgical precision. Working the spots where his muscles creaked in protest and smoothing the parts where his skin sang to be touched. Her attentive hands…along the side of his neck…down his back. To the small of his back. Which hurt him so often these days. But Fran ran her knuckles across the noisy bones there, loosening the core of his pelvis. Stretching out his hips. She encouraged Regis to roll his legs a little.

He did everything she asked. She explained that for someone of his age, a massage needed to be more of a give and take experience rather than a simply pedestrian thing. His muscles needed to move. The right way. Since they had been stuck doing the same repetitive, unhealthy motions for so many years.

This was like physical therapy, she explained. Except not as painful. 

And it was true! Regis didn’t feel any pain. He felt himself loosening. Slipping into a headspace where the only things that mattered were Fran’s softly spoken words, her musical voice, and the sensations. 

So many sensations. Fran’s hands were everywhere. Down his legs—dangerously close to his ballsack for a moment, where Regis’s eyes flew open—and on his feet.

He cried out in surprise when she ran her knuckles down his feet. A surprise that quickly turned to…joy. His feet were brand new—recently uncovered after that bath! And now she was setting the muscles to work. Reviving them. Inch by inch. 

He yelped when she spread her thumbs across his toes. No one had ever touched that part of him—his toes. He hadn’t known to expect that much feeling from such a mundane place on his body—but now he was grunting rudely in contrast to the dulcet classical music. 

But it felt so good.

Regis wanted to hear more. He wanted her to explain exactly what ‘good’ she was putting into his body. 

Because he could feel it. He didn’t know what it was. Her energy or his weakness or the aura of this place or the bath or…anything that had happened to him in the last half hour. But Regis could feel the ‘good’ seeping into him. Like a rush of warmth. 

“Your blood is flowing,” Fran murmured. Her voice was slightly strained from the effort of grinding her hands into Regis’s feet. “It might feel like pins and needles…”

“It feels wonderful…” Regis said, before he could think about how it sounded.

“Good. Now, turn over.” Fran untucked the towel from around Regis’s waist. She held it up so he could lay on his back. 

Like a fish out of water, Regis scrambled into he was facing the other way around. Staring at the ceiling. And…Fran. She had pushed her hair up into a sloppy ponytail. Keeping it out of her eyes as she worked.

Hair that was impossible to tame. A gaze that saw only what she needed to do. Fran was painfully gorgeous. Regis stared at her with a heavy heart. 

He wished…

Well, he wised all kinds of things. That she wasn’t a prostitute and that he wasn’t an invalid. That they weren’t in an illegal massage parlor. That Fran wasn’t doing this just because she was getting paid. That in some small way she found his body appealing—even a tiny, almost nonexistent amount. Regis would gladly take that. 

But he knew it was impossible. That was all impossible. They were here like this because Regis was paying for it. And Fran clearly took pride in her work but she was distant. She had no love for the body she was working on. She just liked to see the muscles unclench. The knots untangle. But Regis himself? 

She didn’t even care if he talked. In fact, she probably preferred if he didn’t. 

Regis gazed at her longingly. Fran was touching him everywhere but she was still remarkably far away.

“Fran, I…” 

She paused for a moment. “Yes?” 

But he didn’t know what to say. How to explain to her that his body hadn’t felt good like this—or good at all—in so very long. That her hands were undoing years of compiled fatigue in a matter of minutes. That he felt sleepy and also awake. 

That she was beautiful. Far too wonderful to be touching him, or anything like him. But even still, selfishly, Regis didn’t want her to stop. He wanted her to keep going, up his flabby stomach…to his vaguely toned chest (leftover from his years of being in shape, long behind him now). 

“Nothing. Keep…keep going. Please.” It was all he could manage.

“Yes, naturally.” Fran’s lips twitched in the hint of a smile.

Regis pinpointed it with the speed of a hawk. Was she enjoying this? Oh, that adorable little smirk. Her hands moving with such strength and her face so delicate…Regis wanted to watch her smile. 

She massaged his pectorals. Rough and deep. Right near his heart. 

When she thought that was sufficient, she passed her thumbs over his nipples. 

“Ah!” Regis jolted upright. Since when had this massage gone into _that_ kind of territory—and his nipples had hardened so much from all the kneading. When she touched him there…it was like having an erection. 

Was it? Was that what it felt like?

Regis’s eyes went cloudy. He laid back down, tacitly granting Fran access to his chest. If this was as close as he could get to the real thing, Regis wanted to go for it.

(Decorum? Yeah, no. There was no trace of decorum in his mind as his instincts took over and the promise of some kind of sexual feeling entered into the picture. No man could turn that down—least of all Regis, when he was at his weakest.) 

Fran pinched his nipples between her thumb and forefinger. Tight. Sharp. Quick.

Regis howled. She was playing him like a violin. When she tugged on those dusky pieces of flesh—things Regis hadn’t played with himself in…ever, actually—it felt like his mind was coming loose. Slipping. Escaping. Inching slowly away from him into sweeter pastures. 

Pleasure. 

He felt it—a shadow of a memory. Thick and sweet. Hot in his belly. Down by abdomen. Prickling his fingertips…oh, now Regis remembered what sexual pleasure felt like. This kind of glorious _feeling_. A sigh. An unwinding. His bitterness unfurling inside of him, blossoming into something else. Something…normal. Beautiful. 

Skin that hungered for more.

He wished Fran would keep touching his nipples. Not that he could come like this, but. He didn’t need to come! He just wanted a little more of that lust, that whispering ecstasy. A taste. 

Regis’s body savored it. Unfortunately, pleasure was an addictive drug. Especially for someone who had been in withdrawal for years on end.

He wanted more.

“Wait, that’s…” Regis moaned when Fran made to pull away. 

“Hm?” Fran leaned closer to him, rubbing her thumbs over the hyper-sensitive tips of his nipples. Sending him reeling. “You like it when I play with these?” 

“Yes, I…do…” Regis should have felt more shame! Admitting something like that. But in her hands…Fran’s confident grip…how could he feel anything other than pleasure? 

She made it hard to remember why Regis fought all of this in the first place.

Fran bent down, her mouth touching the side of his ear. “Are you ready for the ending? So soon? I was going to give you a scalp massage too, though…” 

Regis rode out the waves of goosebumps that broke along his skin when he felt Fran’s breath near his ear. He shook his head no. How could he explain? 

…Couldn’t Fran already see? There was nothing going on between his legs. Yes, right near the base of his prick Regis could feel _something_. A yearning, perhaps. A dream. As if his prick was trying its very best to get hard again, but simply couldn’t. No matter where Fran touched him, or how much…it just wasn’t enough. 

His balls quivered. Insatiable, as always. Normally Regis didn’t mind so much. It wasn’t so bad if he focused his energy on other things. But when sex was the only thing on his mind, the only thing he wanted, he felt it. The skin along his ballsack tingling with unspent desire. Not hard, but. Hungry. 

Regis choked out a pathetic cry of disappointment. He’d thought…because it was Fran…and her hands were so lovely. He’d allowed himself to hope that maybe…just maybe…

The hope is what always got him. Hope was a dangerous animal. Regis should do his best to stick with disappointment.

Fran straightened up. She eyed the lack of movement beneath the towel around his waist. Not even batting an eyelash. “A little coaxing, perhaps?” she suggested. Like an artist experimenting with the texture of her paints. 

Regis shook his head. It was no use. That part of his life was over. He needed to tell her, he needed her to know, before they went down this road and there was no going back. Before she saw for herself how enfeebled he was. 

But Fran paid him no mind. Her hand crawled up his thigh, exploring the further reaches of his body. Underneath the towel. Her long fingers danced along the soft patch of flesh between his legs. Testing his flaccid length. Tugging on him, as if urging him to expand. 

His brow wrinkled when he felt her hand there. Even soft, Regis liked how it felt. Instinctually, but also…viscerally. 

It was out there in the open now. The fact that he couldn’t…

He looked up at Fran. Defeat in his eyes. Overcome with his own helplessness. Fran was looking back at him. That same unsmiling expression on her face. She seemed unmoved. Not the least bit surprised or put out. She was just blinking calmly. Fingers wrapped around his limp cock. Stroking him in earnest, but not too forcefully. Just enough for a good show of honest intent. 

She was trying to get him hard. 

“That’s…very kind of you, but…” Regis looked away in embarrassment. He should tell her right now it was a lost cause. No matter how good her hand felt, it was just a reverberating kind of pleasure. An echo of what was. Nothing that could get him there, where he wanted to be. 

Although, on the other hand, objectively speaking, a hot young woman was trying to jerk him off. These were not bad things! Regis’s pride did rear its head once or twice at the idea (even though yes it was for money, but still! A woman this beautiful? Her hands on his cock? There was something to be said for that alone…) He might as well let her try. Until it just became too shameful and Regis had to stop.

Fran kept going. Kept stroking him. When her fingers passed along the bare head of his dick, still sensitive even when flaccid, Regis allowed himself an uncouth moan. Her thumb knew exactly where to touch him. Just underneath the crown, peeling back his foreskin until he felt naked to his soul. 

“Ah, oh…it’s…” A shiver of sensation. 

His cock twitched in interest. Regis gasped. Was that—had he just—? 

Fran tossed her ponytail over her shoulder. Re-doubling her efforts. Stroking and stroking…

Regis sat up on his elbows. He’d thought, just for a second there, that maybe his cock was back to its old self…its former glory. He could almost taste the hot rush of blood that he was trying to will into that stubborn part of him—

…But no. No. It was just a passing fancy. Nothing substantial.

This was over.

Regis sighed and flopped down on the table. Damn this hope! And Fran, for making him believe it was possible… Anger replaced his pleasure and Regis pushed Fran’s hand away. 

“I think that’s enough—”

Fran pushed him back. Leaning on his chest, trapping him against the table. Her hand found his limp prick again, as if unable to let it go. She fixed Regis with an accusatory glare—matching his anger tit for tat with a cold kind of willfulness. Not rage, not fury, just…will. Sheer determination. 

“Patience.” It sounded like scolding from her lips. 

Regis was speechless. Shocked that Fran would continue trying her damndest to coax some life back into Regis’s poor useless cock. Refusing to give up!

Patience…

Yeah Regis didn’t have much of that. If he were alone, he’d have given up a long time ago. In fact he had. Many many times before.

But now Fran was looking at him expectantly. She gathered herself. Clearly about to do something—

—She leapt into his lap with one graceful swing of her impossibly long legs. She made it look effortless, jumping up onto the table with him. She straddled his thighs, pushing the ceremonial towel out of the way to get both hands around Regis’s dick. 

No more pretense left between them. This was a sexual act. Plain and simple. No more energies or gentle touching. No. Fran was an expert in her field, and her field was sex work.

On her knees above him, she looked wild. Her nightie rode up around her waist, showing off her lace panties. Delicious, tempting. Regis stared where the mesh material caught against the curve of her ass. 

She bounced up and down as she stroked him with both hands. Her tits rocked with the motion. Nipples hardening visibly underneath the white lace.

She was sin. And yet, she was heaven. Grace and feral beauty. Striking him right in the heart. 

Eyes widening, Fran grabbed Regis’s hand and slapped it on her hips. Right above her ass. He couldn’t hold back a hungry growl at that. Sure he sounded like a wild animal but…her skin was hot and smooth. Soft. Tantalizing underneath the mesh of the nightie. Regis wanted to slip his hand under the fabric…

His cock twitched agin. Harder this time. Regis barely even noticed.

“You can touch me,” Fran agreed slowly. “Just there. Where your hand is. And…” She reached back and slid his hand lower, right onto her ample backside.

He moaned, his last remnants of self control vanishing like a scream caught in the wind. He squeezed Fran’s ass with both hands. Kneading, grabbing. Hungry. Desperate. _Begging_. 

“Oh, yes, fuck…” 

Regis latched onto her with everything he had. Her body was glorious. He needed it…oh dear god he wanted this woman. He wanted her! He wanted her under him. He wanted to push all her clothes away and thrust into the vicious heat of her core. He wanted to fuck her. He wanted to show her that he could! He wanted her to like it. So he could fuck her again. Over and over. On every surface of this room. On the floor, against the wall. He wanted to watch his cock sliding into her, hear the sounds she would make as she felt him. The _real_ him.

He would fuck her fast. And then he would go slow. Make love to her. Roll his hips into her just right, wherever she wanted him. Let her ride on top of him. Backwards, forwards. Until she had her fill, or until they were both too tired to do anymore. 

He wanted all of that. So badly it actually hurt. Like a hot knife in his gut.

But of course, it was just a fantasy. Regis stayed pinned beneath Fran’s strong legs, fantasizing about all the things he wanted to do to her. _With_ her. Taking her in every position she would let him. A crazy mess of pent up need and frustration and desire. 

He wanted…

As he laid there, lost to his own imagination, his cock-head stiffened in Fran’s hand. 

“There you are,” she said. Smiling in victory. 

Regis threw his head back and cried. Out loud. A long series of harsh gasps and yelps. His cock _hurt_ —fuck, it hurt! The head curving upwards heedless of anything else. Twisting towards the ceiling, towards Fran. Reaching for her with everything he had. 

Then finally— _finally—_ he evened out. 

A full hard-on. Rising to life between Fran’s knowing fingers. She stroked him harder now. Squeezing him as she worked. Massaging him here, this part of him…

Regis tried not to scream. He bit his lips, alarmed at the sight of himself! How could that be him, there in Fran’s hand? He was so large…had always been this large? And thick! His virile cock filled out her two fists. So red. Angry looking. Vengeful. And…joyous.

“Fuck!” His hips bucked against Fran. She rode the motion and stayed seated. “That’s…! That feels…so good, fuck…!”

He was babbling. Half formed words tumbling from his lips as his mind went blank. 

“Please…I can’t…!” 

His balls ached horribly. He was going to come. He was going to! After ten years. After thinking himself dead, after coming back to life at the merciful call of a woman barely old enough to be finished with grad school—Fran was so young and beautiful—and she was riding him—

Oh, _fuck_ , he wanted to be inside her!

Would she let him? 

He wanted to grab her breasts and fuck up into her until they both came. Could he do it? Did he have the stamina? The willpower, the sheer bravado it would take to sweep a woman like Fran off her feet? 

Fuck yes he did. Regis would do it. He would! He would, he would, he would, he…

“Please, I want…I want…I want to…!” He was thrusting into her hands. Out of control. He wanted more, but he wasn’t going to last!

“Feel it,” Fran said, staring down at him with every ounce of intensity she possessed. But so _calm_. Unflappable. Fearless. “Don’t struggle. Let yourself have it. Let it happen…” 

Her words reached him. Regis teetered on the brink of climax for a while. Shuddering in a weird limbo, a place where he didn’t know if he could actually seal the deal or not, until—

Oh, now he remembered where he knew this smell from. This smell was everything feminine wrapped into one ethereal scent. He’d been smelling this his whole life. Women, the scent a woman carried in her hair or between her breasts. On her neck. Regis had smelled this so many times before.

Yes, he remembered.

And he came. Shaking violently. Teeth clattering. Eyes rolling back in his head as he saw nothing but white for a whole minute. Toes curling. Some kind of otherworldly sound escaping from his throat. 

A release. A true release. 

He came hard all over Fran’s hands. Her stomach. It shot out of him in hot spurts. He couldn’t hold anything back! He came until he had nothing left. 

When he was finished, he collapsed against the massage table. 

Fran peered down at him. Her lips were a hair’s breadth from his. He wanted to kiss her…was that allowed? 

“Good. Much better now, aren’t you?” Fran was smiling at him. Cherubic and venerable. She brushed some grey hair out of his eyes and wiped a spot of cum from his beard (how had he reached that far?). 

She was pleased. Watching Regis catch his breath.

That was the moment where he fell in love with her. And oh. He fell _hard_. Much harder than he could have ever prepared for. 

But it was impossible to stop—after that! After everything she’d done for him…reduce him to nothing, rejuvenate him, then re-gift him his manhood, tied with a bow! Fran changed his life not a second too late. Or too early, for that matter. 

And when she bent over him like this, he could see down her nightie. Her breasts hung in the most natural, pleasing shape Regis had ever seen. He wanted to touch them. In fact he might have…he couldn’t be sure…

Because he passed out seconds after climaxing. Still reaching for Fran, trying to touch her and kiss her and wrap her in his arms all at once. He didn’t manage to do all that, but. He fell asleep with the desire. And that soothed his way into a true sleep. 

______________________________________________________

“Regis. Regis, come on now. Time to get up.” 

Ardyn shook Regis until the older man finally opened his eyes. He was an utter mess there on the massage table. Naked except for a tea towel. Tears in his eyes, drool running down the side of his face. The smell of cum in the air. 

But overall, Ardyn thought Regis looked good. When he blinked, awakening after a full twenty minutes being dead to the world, he looked almost as if he didn’t recognize Ardyn. 

Ah. The sweet throes of a good nut. Ardyn had to tip his hat to the women here. They were really something else. To bring Regis, of all people, to this point. 

(And of course, Ardyn would thank himself later. He deserved credit too for even thinking of this idea! Getting Noctis’s painfully repressed father to let his hair down for once in his life.)

“…Where’s Fran?” Regis asked confusedly.

Ardyn smiled. “She’s just outside, cleaning up.” He gestured to the open door behind him. A few attendants peered in curiously at the spectacle. “Ah yes. I believe you owe her an apology. She was worried you’d had a heart attack or something when you blacked out on her.”   


“Oh…” Regis wiped his stiff face. Brushing away tears and spit. “…I’m sorry.” 

Ardyn chuckled. “I’ll tell her you said so,” he promised. “Now, let’s get up, alright? I’m sure these ladies have other clients. Get dressed, will you?” 

He helped Regis to his feet, unsurprised when Regis’s legs almost gave out. That did tend to happen after a session with one of Theresa’s girls. As advertised! 

By the time Regis was dressed and somewhat presentable, Ardyn had procured Regis’s credit card and the receipt, just waiting for him to sign. He managed to have a wonderful conversation with the woman who serviced Regis—Fran her name was. She seemed charming, and Ardyn was almost sad he hadn’t known her during his own brief stint in this place. But she was relatively new. Only a few years in the business. So they’d missed each other. But he still considered her kindred. A fellow in personal pursuits, as it were. 

Regis stared at her the entire time he signed. It took him several tries to get his pen on the paper he was so flustered.

To be fair, Fran was wearing a new nightie. This one was pink lace with a red bow around her cleavage. It was…fetching. And Regis did not seem to be able to look away. 

Licking his lips, Ardyn bid farewell to everyone. Regis held Fran’s hand and asked quietly if he could make another appointment with her. 

“Yes, of course,” Fran told him. “Just call Mother and she’ll arrange it. Whenever you like.” 

She tucked some of Regis’s bushy hair behind his ear. A loving gesture. Her face still so strangely immovable. Ardyn honestly didn’t even think she was putting on a performance. That she just moved with whatever was in her heart.

So. She wasn’t long for this career. Ardyn could tell. She had the same weakness he did—a sense of obligation and misplaced fondness. Oh dear. 

This was going to be quite a mess wasn’t it?

Still, Ardyn couldn’t stop smiling on his way out. When they got into the car, he finally turned to Regis and asked, “So! How do you feel?”

Regis took stock of himself. He was still intact. Or, mostly. Pieces of him were missing. Blown wide open. His legs kept twitching and he wasn’t sure why. His hands weren’t shaking anymore though. And his shoulders felt…good. Strangely limber.

Not to mention the giddy feeling that had lodged itself in his chest. Distracting and weird. Unexpected, too. A loose-limbed, wide-eyed man who saw white hair and red eyes every time he blinked.

A low chuckle bubbled up and out of Regis’s throat. Low and eerie. Ardyn had never heard Regis laugh before—he wasn’t even sure if this was considered laughing, but—Regis seemed happy. Relieved. Exactly like what he was. A man who’d finally had an orgasm after a decade of drought.

Ardyn wouldn’t begrudge him that.

“I’ll take it,” he declared. Then he started the car for the journey home.

_________________________________________________

In the next week, Regis would visit Perfect Harmony three more times. Ultimately, he decided to take a second week off work. Clarus was being difficult about the whole thing anyway. Telling Regis he couldn’t come back until he was cleared by a doctor. And when Regis checked in with the hospital, they wanted to run all kinds of tests. He agreed, but…not right away.

The tests would take a few days. Why not take advantage of the situation and take another week’s personal vacation? 

Besides, Fran was only available during the daytime hours. 9-5, as it were. So Regis benefitted greatly from having his days free.

Each time he visited Fran (paid for her services, more like), Regis felt a part of himself return. Like he had been frozen for years and years…and was now slowly thawing. Piece by piece.

Fran was gifting him pieces of himself he had long since discarded. A sense of humor, for one. Regis actually laughed at some of Ardyn’s crass jokes these days. A sense of curiosity—Regis wanted to know so much more about Fran. Whole worlds of pleasure. So, so much pleasure. Regis had no problems getting it up now—not after Fran’s unique treatment. Even in his private time Regis was able to masturbate like a man half his age. Sometimes he even woke up with an erection—like twenty years ago! 

Fran had awoken so much desire in him it actually…kind of scared Regis. He tried to rationalize his thoughts. Tell himself this was a business relationship, nothing more. But he wanted her so much. It drove him to do such irrational things.

Like pay $1,000 for a massage and a hand job three times a week. That kind of irrational shit.

But Regis didn’t even really miss the money. Sure, he was penny-pincher at heart, but. Fran’s hands. Her soft voice in his ear. Her perfect body. Her rare, tiny smiles. Regis was greedy for all these things.

He couldn’t stop himself. 

And what was a few thousand dollars in the face of this kind of pleasure?

If only he could be satisfied with that.

Regis often dreamt of…things. Not normal things. Not just Ardyn driving him to the suburbs whenever he asked and then getting his rocks off with a beautiful woman. No, that was normal. Even the sex dreams about Fran were normal. Quite so.

But…there were other fantasies. Things like…taking Fran out for a night on the town. Buying her a beautiful dress that fit her like a glove. Giving her nice jewelry. Treating her to fancy dinners. Did Fran like shows? Regis could give her that. He wanted to walk the streets of the city with her. To listen to her talk about her world. To know her. Really. 

Like…

Oh god. Regis’s heart was in a sorry state. 

Did Fran want any of that? Any of it at all? To be seen with Regis in public? To be on his arm, as his woman? To meet him somewhere outside Perfect Harmony? To spend time with him? 

Regis had no idea. As far as he knew, it wasn’t even allowed. Fran only ever offered him a hand job. Never anything more, never anything less. She listened now and then when Regis talked about his job (mostly because he wanted to impress her, which was a mistake, because that kind of thing clearly did not get a rise out of Fran). Or she commented when it took him less time than usual to cum. She gave him advice on how to walk, how to carry his weight to put less pressure on his knees. Stretches he should do in his spare time. Which Regis…tried to follow.

But Regis wanted more. He wanted an actual—what? A _relationship_?

Impossible. People did not date their sex workers! That was just—

Alright, he saw the irony. Yes, yes. Even though he tried to deny it. He still saw the painfully ironic turn of events for what it was. 

He even considered asking Noctis for help once or twice. But that was just too ridiculous.

Instead, Regis came up with his own plan. He would try to extend his business relationship with Fran. Speak to Mother privately about some kind of arrangement. At least try to find out what other offers were on the table. Like, could he spend an evening with Fran at least?

Because he wanted to so badly it kept him awake at night! Nights when he was supposed to be sleeping to recover his health! (He decided to ease back into work slowly, hour by hour. Doctors’ orders. And Fran also agreed with the reasoning, saying he needed to practice daily self-care. So it was.)

If there was some kind of arrangement Regis could pay for—something that didn’t require any confession out of him, anything that would leave him wide open for rejection—he should take it. Paying for services was how they started. It was how their ‘relationship’ should progress.

And so, Regis found himself sitting across from Theresa. A one-on-one meeting. Private, business-related matters. Doors closed.

“I’d like to…arrange more time with Fran,” Regis said bluntly.

“I imagined so.” Theresa pulled out her planner. “You’ve been here on the regular for the past three weeks. Nearly a month, even. Shall I book you straight through for another month? It’s nothing out of the ordinary—”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Regis pushed away his embarrassment. He needed to ask this! And Theresa was a madam—no, a businesswoman! If anyone would understand, she would. “I meant is it possible for me to schedule time with Fran…outside of the massage parlor?”

Theresa raised an eyebrow. It seemed she understood his meaning. But still she had to ask. “What did you have in mind?” 

“A night.” Regis crossed his arms. Face serious, unyielding. Ready to seal the deal. Not willing to take no for an answer. “Maybe more nights in the future. That kind of arrangement.” 

Theresa nodded slowly. She pursed her lips for a moment. Tapped her pen on the desk. At last she said, “Have you spoken to Fran about any of this?"

“No.” Regis shrugged. “I thought I should clear it with you first, since you are the management around here.”

Theresa almost laughed at that. She grinned and shook her head. “Yes, well. I’d feel more comfortable if you spoke to Fran first. All things considered.”

Now it was Regis’s turn to frown. Why was Theresa avoiding? Was it a legal issue—impossible, they were operating well outside the law. All the time. “Can you just tell me if that kind of arrangement is done here?”

“It is,” Theresa admitted carefully. “With some of our therapists. When the situation arises.” 

“So, then. What is the issue?” Regis was already thinking of what kind of money he could offer for a night with Fran. $2,000? $3,000? What exactly were the going rates for the other ‘therapists’? Regis would match any price, double it if he needed to—

“The issue is that Fran in particular has never taken clients in that capacity before.” Theresa folded her hands on the table. “I’m not sure if it’s something she’d be interested in doing.” 

Regis was floored. Out of all the therapists here—he’d seen some of them before—Fran was clearly the most attractive! No debate in his mind. The other women he’d had met were skinny and sort of gothic looking. Striving for a modern ‘dark’ aesthetic that Regis just didn’t understand. Fran was nothing like that. She was cute! Irresistible! How could it be possible no man ever thought to make an offer like this before?

He didn’t understand. He looked at Theresa with scrutiny. What was she hiding? There was another layer to this, wasn’t there? Some kind of…something?

Regis narrowed his eyes and stayed silent. He’d wait for Theresa to explain. He wouldn’t even ask the question. He’d just wait right here. 

Stubborn as a mule.

Eventually, after a few failed attempts to usher Regis out the door, Theresa sighed in defeat. “I suppose I have an obligation as per our employer-client relationship to be upfront about all this. Since you seem interested in going further with Fran. And you should definitely know before you pursue…although, it would just be better if you spoke with Fran herself—”

“Tell me.” Regis’s face was impassable. Hard metallic eyes and a grim jaw. 

Theresa straightened her blazer. Sitting up in her seat. Refusing to be intimidated. But relenting all the same. Because it was a matter of business. And business was the primary objective here at Perfect Harmony. Regis understood that.

“Very well,” she said. “Fran is transitioning right now. And, for the foreseeable future.” 

“Transitioning.” Regis didn’t understand. Did that mean she was only a part-time employee? Or an apprentice of some sort? Transitioning into a job as a full-fledged masseuse? 

Didn’t make much sense. Regis shook his head.

Theresa faltered. “You…know what I mean by that? Yes?”

“No, I don’t.” Regis tightened his arms. “Explain.” 

Theresa seemed shocked. “Really, I mean, in this day and age…it’s hardly uncommon…” She looked Regis up and down. “Although I suppose you’re an insulated man in many ways. Perhaps you don’t know the term…” She sighed wearily. “Fine. I’ll spell it out for you.” 

She drummed her black fingernails on the desk. “Fran was assigned male at birth. It’s taken her many years to transition into the life she has now. The life she wants. But she has not taken… _every_ step into this life. And I don’t believe she plans to.” Theresa’s eyes darkened. Gauging Regis’s reaction. “Do you understand?” 

Assigned male at birth. Regis had heard the term before. In support groups for LGBT youth where he’d made an appearance during his campaign days, pulling as a parent advocate and all that—

Oh. That kind of ‘transition.’

So Fran was…

Regis covered his face with his hands. What was happening. What was this. What had he just learned? He needed a moment. He needed to think. He needed to speak to Fran, to see her, to know…he just didn’t—

How could he not know? Regis had been with Fran so many times. He’d never even guessed…was Fran trying to deceive him? No, no. She wouldn’t. She was not a liar. Fran was many things. Too serious for her own good. Focused. Beautiful. Succinct. Precise. But she was not a liar. 

She’d never lied to him.

She just was what she was.

Regis conjured an image of Fran in his mind. To him, she was the epitome of everything feminine. From her painted toes down to the last strand of hair on her head. But there was still a part of her—

“When I asked you for a woman, back when you asked my preference…” Regis began. His voice rough. Uneven.

“I gave you a woman,” Theresa said firmly. “One of the best therapists we have here. And you made a good match.” She shrugged with one hand. “But for that reason I just explained, I don’t know if Fran would agree to working nights. If you’d like, I can speak to her about it. At the very least, I can say with some certainty that Fran will agree to dinner. Just dinner. I’ll put you up in the penthouse of a nice hotel. But I can’t promise she’ll want more than that.” 

The penthouse of a nice hotel. How many times had Regis fantasized about that exact scenario? Fran—not in a nightie, for once, but in a real outfit—sitting across from him. Eating dinner. He’d learn her tastes. What she liked to order from a restaurant. Her preference in wine.

And now, this added layer. He’d also learn how—or if, even—she liked to be touched. 

His shoulders sagged as Regis realized he was already too far gone for any of this to be something he needed to seriously question. If Fran was a trans woman—and she was, obviously—then that just meant…that just meant that Regis was…whatever kind of person it was who found themselves attracted to trans women. (Was there a term? He didn’t know…?) There were worse things to be in this world, surely! 

Besides, he saw her as a woman. That’s all she’d ever been to him. Ever would be.

No matter how confused he was feeling right now, how many questions he still had, Regis knew he couldn’t dig up the past month and throw it all out. He _couldn’t_ , and he wouldn’t even if he could! 

She…Fran was…Regis wanted…to…

He knew what he felt. But it was too hard to say right now. There was so much unsaid between them. It would be far too dangerous to say this one, unchangeable truth. The one thing he could never take back. 

He needed to know how Fran felt first. If any of this was destined to be more than just a night. Or, if that was it. Just one glorious night and a fond farewell.

He needed to know where they stood. 

“But, if all of that is too much of a hassle, then I have plenty of other girls who work nights.” Theresa pulled out a pamphlet filled with women’s pictures. “You’re free to take your pick—”

“No, wait. Wait.” Regis held up his hands. Stopping her mid-offer. He’d already made up his mind. “…You said dinner?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow this story has found its way into my heart of hearts <3 <3 Don't ask me how T___T


	3. Peachleaf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regis and Fran go on their first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...remember when I said I was writing a one-shot? ...Yeah. Yeah. Going to be four chapters, now. I tried to add the shrug emoji to the tags because it seemed to fit. But that didn't work lol.
> 
> Also I headcanon Fran as a total gym rat/health nut. That just fits so perfectly in my head :) 
> 
> [Fran’s little black dress](https://www.lulus.com/products/cocktail-hour-black-wrap-dress/293322.html)
> 
> [Regis’s date outfit](https://qph.fs.quoracdn.net/main-qimg-ec1f6a88b60e8408b55da52beeb05d82-c) ;)
> 
> Enjoy guys. Smut smut smut.

**Chapter Three: Peachleaf**

Several days later, Regis still didn’t know how to wrap his head around the entire situation. It would have been nice if he could buried himself in work, (his usual failsafe response), but he was still doing the two or three hours a day schedule. So very little reprieve from the thoughts weaving tirelessly through his brain.

Fran. His therapist, his future date. He couldn’t wait to see her again.

Even though that was…complicated. A kind of thorny problem Regis couldn’t suss out no matter how hard he tried.

He was more attracted to Fran than anyone else he’d met in the last twenty years. Possibly in his whole life. When had he ever been this obsessed with procuring a night with a woman, with making sure they had time together? Even with Aulea things were calmer. More subdued, yet more reliable. Steady. They’d known each other since childhood. When they grew older, Regis let Aulea take the lead. He was happy enough to provide. To move in step with her and make love whenever she liked. A comfortable relationship. They were friends first. And then, towards the end, they were…a bit distant. As work steadily consumed Regis and he withdrew from his family. 

Fran was different. 

She was irresistible. A bonfire—and Regis made such a pitiful moth. Her presence consumed him until all he could think about was her. Her skin, her scent. On a guilty whim, he’d asked for the garter belt she’d worn one session. Fran had given it to him with a smile. He could get off pressing his nose into the soft lace of that elastic lingerie, stroking himself hard and fast. Efficient. The way he used to back when he was well-practiced at jerking himself. (He relearned fast enough, damn.) Fran’s smell. The lingering warmth of her…it was enough to drive Regis insane.

But Fran…Fran was not what he’d seen—what he’d thought he’d seen. Or what he’d imagined (in all those fantasies). She was…

Regis’s hands shook every time he thought about Fran’s body. The entire time she was touching him, pleasuring him, she’d been keeping something from him. Something foreign and decidedly…masculine. Tucked between her legs. 

How could Regis stand to know that? How was he supposed to reconcile his feelings with the truth?

More to the point, why didn’t it change anything? No matter how many times Regis considered the reality of Fran’s body, he could never conjure an imagine of her as a man. It just didn’t fit! He couldn’t picture Fran with a man’s figure, no matter what evidence pointed to the contrary! Short hair and a square jaw…how was it possible to see that in her? 

In his mind’s eye, she was…the only thing she could ever be…was that beautiful woman holding him upright (before he fell on his face in the tub). The woman in his lap, stroking him to painful, visceral completion. Peering into his face when he was done. So cute and so captivating. Unabashedly proud of herself. A goddess in her own right. The queen of Regis’s body, no question there.

She belonged in his lap. On top of him. He wanted her there, no matter what shadowy thoughts clouded his focus. 

The evening of their dinner date arrived. Just a date, Mother promised. A date that Regis treasured and feared in equal measure. Though, he’d put up no hand to stop it—even in the throes of his worst self doubt, Regis would never be strong enough to cancel on Fran. To miss out on a chance to be near her. 

He had to accept that. This was where he’d gotten himself after a month paying for Fran’s services.

So be it. He was only a man. He couldn’t fight these needs any more than he could fight the need to eat and drink.

Regis stared at himself in the mirror of his bedroom. He was trying on several different ties, trying to find the right color combination. Something that would most appeal to the woman he so wanted to please. Would Fran see him as too severe if he wore his usual black tie? Yes, no. Too serious. A red tie? Too bold? Or green checkered…no, it made him look like a seventy year old man. He was already battling the detriment of his age, no need to make it worse!

His fingers slipped.

This was absolutely ridiculous. A complete farce. Stupidity at the highest level! Fran was a sex worker. She’d never see anything in Regis other than a paycheck, what was the point of showmanship? 

Not only that. Regis knew it was a mistake to wander down this path. Did it make him…did it make him gay to be attracted to Fran? Was that where Noctis got it, from _Regis_? (Yet another failing they shared?) Since his attraction to her was so strong, so immediate…instantaneous! Maybe on some level he had known. And this was his body’s way of acting out whatever sick fantasy he’d been harboring underneath the surface all these years—

Regis closed his eyes and balled his hands into fists.

He should not be doing this. _Any_ of it.

Once more, Regis tried to conjure an image of Fran as a man in his mind. Then he could decide for certain if he was attracted to her or not…which part of her he loved so much…

…Once again, the image did not materialize. All he saw was Fran’s lean body, draped across his own. Her lips inches from his. In his dreams she was naked— _perfect_ —but in reality she always wore some type of lingerie. 

Smiling at him with bewitching eyes. Regis could lose himself in those cherry oak eyes for the rest of his days. She saw so much. She could read him, read his body. His thoughts, maybe. She knew what he needed. What he wanted deep in his heart.

And right now he wanted nothing except to hold her. Regis clutched an empty hand to his chest. 

He wished things were less complicated. But wishing didn’t solve anything. Never had, never would. Regis knew he needed to keep going. Keep moving. See this through to its natural (probably horribly unfortunate) end.

He checked his watch. A half hour until he needed to leave! (Nyx, his personal driver, was taking him to the hotel. Nothing too out of the ordinary, Regis could just say he had meeting in the penthouse suite. Not even a lie!) Only a half hour and Regis hadn’t even picked out what he was going to wear yet. 

He stomped over to his wardrobe and flipped angrily through the suits. Which tone to go with? Professional, with a touch towards stern, was his usual affair. But this was a date! Regis couldn’t go with the same look we wore to the office, it just wouldn’t do…

Fucking hell. How as he supposed to do this?!

Overwhelmed by everything, Regis slammed the door to his closet. He should just call and cancel. This was pathetic! So unlike him! He was so far out of his depths.

More than likely, this night would end in failure. Of whatever kind.

He sighed deeply and fought a wave of panic. Trying not to lose it again. 

“…Dad?”

Of course Regis hadn’t been expecting Noctis’s voice. He nearly jumped out of his skin! When had Noctis gotten so eerily good at creeping around? Sneaking up on him like that!

“Jesus, Noct, why on earth—”

“Sorry, sorry!” Noctis held his hands up in surrender. “Didn’t mean to scare you!”

Turning back around, Regis pinched the bridge of his nose and remembered his heart. He needed to relax. Damn it, he had a medical condition! He sat down on his bed and took a few deep breaths. 

“I just came over to see how you were doing. Thought I’d make us some dinner if you didn’t have other plans.” Noctis glanced around his father’s room. This was one place he was not used to being. Not in many, many years. (To be fair, it hadn’t changed much.) 

Regis raised an eyebrow. “…make dinner? Since when do you cook?”

Noctis shrugged. He entered the room a bit more, coming to stand his father’s side. Slowly, cautiously. Pretending to be calm. “I cook sometimes. Ardyn taught me.” 

“Hmm.” Regis imagined that Ardyn had taught his son…all kinds of things. Explicit things, undoubtedly.

But not just that. Ardyn taught Noctis how to be a man. Regis had been forced to admit that to himself as the years passed. Noctis was not the same frustrated boy he’d been when he first began seeing Ardyn. No. He was a young man now. With his own life.

Regis was working on admitting how much that actually hurt, knowing that it was Ardyn—not Regis, the boy’s biological father—who’d raised Noctis into an adult. It hurt. The guilt of not being there. The shame of having failed to produce a functioning member of society, only for Ardyn (of all people!) to succeed. Regis pretended for a long time to hate Ardyn for that. But the reality was…he hated himself.

He glanced away from Noctis, sort of embarrassed that he didn’t know his son possessed that particular skill. There was so much about Noctis he didn’t know. What a shame! 

…Well, maybe Regis could fix that! Maybe he and Noctis could go out to lunch one day, or stay in if Noctis wanted, and just talk. Like normal people. Yes, alright, it would be cringe-worthy in the beginning. But in time, surely…

Ah. Regis had been saying this to himself for years now. Someday he would talk to Noctis. For real. Someday, someday. It’s just that day never came. Regis knew why: He was far too afraid to be cornered in a room one on one with his son. The things that might be said. It always seemed like too much of burden on both of them. 

“So, what do you say? Want me to make something?” Noctis stared at all the discarded ties on his father’s bed. “Or…are you going out?” 

Right. Staying or going. Regis had to make a decision. 

He hung his head in defeat. No use trying to fight it. The fierce desire in his veins. Regis was learning for the first time how helpless he could be in the face of a woman. Even a woman with…secrets. He was no match against the weight of his own heart. 

“I’m headed out soon, actually. Nyx is picking me up.” Regis checked his watch again. Twenty minutes now. Damn damn damn.

“Oh. Cool.” Noctis was trying not to look taken aback. And failing, naturally. “…I guess you have a meeting or something?” 

“Yes.” Regis threw out the excuse on reflex. 

In the short silence that followed, he regretted it. Sure, It had been his plan all along to lie about his whereabouts tonight. Except, Noctis…well for one, Noctis could clearly tell his father was lying. Regis never spent more than seven seconds picking out an outfit for work. And he never, ever agonized over his closet like a lovelorn fool. The lie was more of a signal that Regis didn’t want to explain his evening rather than an actual ruse.

But Noctis didn’t seem ready to let it go. Bizarrely enough (or perhaps, not at all), Noctis had become much more conversational around Regis since his breakdown. Testing the waters, prodding where he would normally walk away. Perhaps out of fear that his time with his father was running short…

A dismal thought. Not untrue, though. Regis was facing…similar anxieties. The idea that he would depart from this world without ever really connecting with Noctis. It did haunt Regis. It did. 

He pursed his lips, waiting for Noctis to keep asking. Noctis needed to question him a little more because Regis wasn’t brave enough to volunteer information on his own.

So Noctis nodded slowly. “…Okay. I guess…it’s important or something? Can’t find the tie you’re looking for?” 

Regis pressed a hand to his forehead, hiding his face. He knew Noctis was trying to give him a chance at the truth. And Regis knew he should just tell him. Out of all people—everyone else on this planet—Noctis would understand. 

This was his son. Regis wanted to be honest with him. 

And if Noctis spat in his face, called him a hypocrite—which he was—then Regis would just have to take it. He deserved it, in a way. He knew that. 

Still his tongue stayed glued to the roof of his mouth. He just couldn’t…it was too difficult! Honesty about his humanity, after all these years! They weren’t like that with each other! Even if Regis was starting to…in his own way…want that kind of relationship with Noctis…

“Well you have plenty of ties.” Noctis carefully opened the closet door. Rifling through the neatly folded ties in the pull-out drawers. “Don’t you just want a black one? Like always?” 

“No, I…” Regis rose to his feet. Unsteadily. “That’s not…it. Not precisely…” 

Noctis turned to face his father. They were roughly the same height now. Eye to eye. Just looking at each other without any immediate expectations.

Why was that so fraught? A tender moment. Shaky and fragile. Feeling each other out. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Noctis straightened his shoulders. “Dad, what’s going on? You’re acting weird. And no way it takes you this long to find a tie.” He gave his father an incredulous look. “Come on. What is it?” 

Regis nodded. Finally, a direct question he couldn’t squirm his way out of. Thank goodness Noctis had the balls to pin him down. Regis was proud of his son for that.

“…You’re right.” Regis heaved a weary breath and sat back down on the bed. He smoothed out his mustache, tracing the line of his beard. “I’m not going to the office tonight, Noct. I’m…well, actually…I’m going to have dinner with someone.”

He looked at his wrinkled hands. Useless and old. “A…woman.”

The weight of that word landed between them like a dead fish. Ridiculous, sort of shameful. Regis was far too old to entertain women. Obviously. And Noctis must know where exactly he’d met any kind of woman after so many years of celibacy. It took several moments for either of them to say anything. Regis couldn’t even make eye contact with his son while they waited out the awkwardness. He didn’t want to check his watch. He knew time was running out, but he couldn’t move a muscle either.

The ball was entirely in Noctis’s court. He could pass judgement on his father, condemn him, or he could show mercy. It was all up to him. 

Regis looked at the floor while he waited to hear his sentence. 

“…Okay,” Noctis said slowly. “You mean like a date?”

“…I…” Regis’s cheeks turned warm. Was he blushing—actually blushing? For the first time in his long, proud life? “…Yes.” 

There was a quiet rustling noise as Noctis shifted his weight on the carpet. It rang in Regis’s ears. He thought he could hear his son’s mind turning. Oh, the things Noctis must want to say to him right now. Accusing things. Hurtful. Or even disgusted. Telling Regis that he didn’t want to know any more than that. Walking out and effectively closing down yet another line of communication between them. 

“Umm…wow.” But that was all Noctis said at first. “You…huh. Okay.” 

It wasn’t an accusation, surprisingly. It really wasn’t any kind of statement. Just an acknowledgment. A few words to admit the fact that he’d heard correctly. 

Regis raised his head. Noctis was scratching the back of his neck like he did when he was at a loss for what else to do. Self conscious. But, Noctis met Regis’s eyes. He looked back at him. And after a short moment, he smiled.

“That’s great, Dad.” 

Regis winced. Was it, though? Was it ‘great’? More than anything, Regis felt it was pure folly. But…Noctis seemed to think otherwise. 

…Of course. Noctis was the one who convinced Regis to get his ‘happy ending’ in the first place. He must put stock in the things that came out of dates, even dates with prostitutes. Of course he did. But Regis’s life was nothing like Noctis’s. He was not insulated from the harshness of reality. Not naive to the shamefulness of it all. No matter what Noctis said, Regis would still feel the sting of debasement. 

But Noctis wasn’t pushing the issue. He turned back to the closet. “So, you’re trying to figure out what to wear, right? Let’s see…” He pulled out a pale grey tie with light criss-crossed stripes. Laying that down on the bed, Noctis went back to the closet and unfolded a royal blue buttoned down shirt. “This combination would work. It’s classy but not too stiff.” 

Regis took the shirt from his son’s hands. Momentarily speechless. 

“And wait…” Noctis sped through the various suit jackets his father owned. “Don’t you have any in navy?” 

Regis unbuttoned the black shit he had on and tossed it on the bed. He replaced it with the blue one his son picked out. “…Towards the back I think.” 

“Yup, I see it.” Taking great care, Noctis brushed the back of his hand down the only navy blue suit jacket Regis owned. He held it open, helping Regis’s arms into the fabric. Dressing his father. 

They were standing so very close to each other. Regis could not remember the last time they’d done something so…intimate. A true familial gesture. It wasn’t in their language. This was like speaking a foreign tongue. Unnatural and strange.

But up close, Noctis looked like such a capable, attractive young man. His blue eyes were fixed on the suit, making sure the folds of the lapel fell in just the right way. He even picked out a light blue paisley handkerchief and tucked it expertly in the breast pocket. Noctis tugged the cuffs of Regis’s suit and made sure the cufflinks were straight.

Noctis knew how a man should dress. How a suit should look. When had he learned this? For years, Noctis refused to wear anything like a suit. Then, recently, in the past two years or so, he wore them all the time. To dinners and various things. He always looked sharp—even with that unsightly beard. And now he was dressing Regis, making him look appealing. Softer. Urbane and poised. Charming. …Handsome. 

“Want me to do the tie?” Noctis voice was deeper than Regis remembered. 

“…No, I can…” Regis fingers fumbled as he tried to wrangle the grey silk. A task he’d done every day for the last thirty years. 

He was nervous. He’d been thinking about this night nonstop for days. And now Noctis knew the truth…

“Here, just let me do it.” Noctis pushed aside Regis’s clumsy fingers and began assembling the tie like an expert. Calm. Unhurried. Paying good attention to the size of the knot, how straight it was. 

Regis felt something move in his heart. Like tectonic plates shifting into place. He wanted to wrap his arms around his son and pull him in for a hug. It was an unfamiliar desire; Regis and Noctis had not hugged for some years. Since Noctis was a child, probably. But seeing his son in this light…so grown. So willing to take care of Regis, even when Regis was fairly certain he did not deserve any such treatment. 

He wanted to hold Noctis close and thank him. To apologize vehemently for all the mistakes he’d made. For being a lousy father for so many years. Noctis deserved to hear that. Especially now, when there was no gap of preeminence between them. 

Regis brought his hands up, ready to do it. Then, at the last second, they hovered uncertainly around Noctis’s shoulders. He wanted to hug him, but he just couldn’t quite make it those last few centimeters…

“There.” Noctis finished his handiwork and moved back. Regis dropped his hands instantly. Weirdly hoping his son hadn’t noticed (such a stilted move). “Hey, you look pretty good, Dad! Go see for yourself.” 

Turning towards the mirror, Regis was surprised by the sight of himself. He looked different! Not his usual pale, washed out face, stark against the black of his suit. No. Regis looked lively. Smooth. Almost pleasant. 

He straightened out the bottom, making sure the suit still fit him all the way around. It did, even though Regis had lost a good amount of weight the past few months due to exhaustion. Even so, the suit worked.

“Yes, I see.” Regis pressed his hands to his waist, surprised by the flattering cut of the suit. It would have been bespoke if Regis was a little fuller. “…Remarkable.”

“Glad you like it.” Noctis smiled at his father in the mirror. “I’m guessing this is the same woman you’ve been seeing nearly every day at Perfect Harmony?” 

Regis swallowed uncomfortably. “…Yes.” No point in lying. This was just the truth out loud instead of lingering in silence. (Besides, Ardyn must have told Noctis that Regis had been booking more time. The first few weeks Regis continued to go through Ardyn for his appointments, before taking the matter into his own hands and calling Mother directly.)  
  
“Yeah, I figured. Well, good. I’m glad you found someone you like.” Noctis chuckled.“Ardyn’s really good at finding the right people. Always has been. I’m happy it all worked out.”

True enough. Regis nodded. Now would be the time when he said what he needed to say to his son—

Seconds ticked by. 

“Anyway…” Waving awkwardly, Noctis began to turn away. “Have a nice time tonight! I’ll just—”

“Noctis, wait.” 

The words were out of Regis’s mouth before he could stop them. This needed to be said. Sure, Regis was a coward deep down. He knew that. His truest strength resided in the boardroom, not in front of his family. But even so. Regis was not so weak that he would keep the words hidden for the rest of his life. 

“Thank you,” Regis stumbled to say around a mouth unused to the shape of those words. “I…really appreciate your help, Noct.” In truth, Regis didn’t know what he would have done without Noctis these past weeks. He would have gone mad, certainly. “It means quite a lot. So…thank you. Really.” 

He nodded as he said that last word. Locking eyes with Noctis and hoping his son could feel the sincerity. 

Noctis froze. His eyes widened in honest surprise and he reared his head back before he could pretend to feel otherwise. Then, he caught himself and forced a response. “Um…yeah. No problem. I mean, you’re welcome.” 

So yeah. That was painful as fuck. Regis looked away, sorely ashamed that even gratitude was foreign between them. 

“No, Dad, I mean…” Noctis took a few more steps towards his father. They locked eyes again. Wary of each other. “Seriously. It’s no problem. I can…help you out any time, if you want. Okay? Just like…let me know.”

Regis nodded, breaking into a small smile. One that bore the barest hint of warmth. “I know. And I will. Thank you.” (Now that the words were out, they didn’t taste too bad.) 

Noctis smiled back. The moment had not self-destructed. Miraculously. 

Feeling bold, Regis put a firm hand on his son’s shoulder. Squeezing, hoping to show the pride in his heart. Noctis patted the hand in return. It wasn’t a conversation—no, they were far from that—but they understood each other. Whatever that was worth.

“We should…reschedule our own dinner, Noct,” Regis offered. “Or perhaps a lunch. I’d like to see what kind of chef you’ve become.” 

“Tch.” Noctis fluffed up his hair in the back. That same nervous habit. “I’m nothing special. I mean, I know how to make a few things. That’s about it.”

Regis straightened his shoulders. Still smiling. “I’m sure they’re wonderful dishes.” 

Light pink spread across Noctis’s cheeks. Regis almost laughed at the sight—since when was Noctis so bad at accepting compliments?! He remembered an arrogant, self-assured boy who dragged his father out at all times of the day and night to show off his fishing skills. …Twenty years ago.

Much had changed since then. But Regis found the blush on his son to be cute. Humble. Nothing wrong with that. 

A vibrating sound resonated against Regis’s dresser. His cell phone. Noctis picked it up for his father, checking his screen for the caller. “It’s Nyx. He driving you?” 

“Yes. I should be going. Tell him I’ll be down in five minutes.” 

While Noctis relayed the message, Regis went to the bathroom and gargled some mouthwash. For about the tenth time that evening. (He harbored perpetual fear that he would put Fran off with some unavoidable aspect of himself, a foolish tie or bad breath…such gripping, pointless anxieties.) He splashed some cologne on his neck—the usual scent. He figured Fran had smelled it on him before, so. Better to go with the everyday scent. 

Why did he feel like a twelve year old going to a school dance. Regis hoped sorely that he didn’t meet anyone on the way to the hotel. Could it be any more obvious he was going on a date?

Good god. Regis was so poorly out of practice entertaining women. It was beyond sad. 

He bid Noctis farewell and met Nyx in the parking lot. 

“Evening, Mr. Caelum.” Nyx nodded at Regis in the rearview mirror. “You look nice, sir. Real nice.” 

Regis fought back another blush. Damn this nervous heart! “…Thank you, Nyx. Now please. Get me there quickly, alright?”

______________________________________

The hotel that Mother Theresa picked out was a luxurious high-rise on the west side called “The Feywood.” Regis had heard of it before; he often put up his business partners there when they came to the city. Prime location. Up scale, but not ridiculously overpriced. Just enough to give the appeal of wealth, but without having to pay as dearly as you would for a place like “Archadia.”

He approved of the setting. He could be comfortable here. He knew how to navigate this landscape—much better than he did the underground lair of Perfect Harmony. Finally, a battle on his home turf.

After Nyx dropped him off (with a semi-inappropriate wink, which Regis debated on correcting when this was all over), Regis marched straight to the front desk. He surveyed the surroundings. Gold and red furnishings across the entire lobby. Quiet except for a professional whimsically playing a piano in the corner. Sufficiently classy, Regis thought, for a woman like Fran. He didn’t know if she would be impressed by elite things like this, but he hoped she would be. (Oh, if she was…the things he could give her…)

A man in a grey suit caught his eye. He had scruffy blond hair, a face with noticeable stubble, and a dull brown scar over one eye. He looked like a ruffian stuffed into a suit, like a bear at the circus. And he was staring right at him—at Regis in particular out of all the guests in this place.

Regis frowned back, straightening his coat. He would not be intimidated by that kind! Let the man stare all he liked! If he so much as breathed a word to Regis—or Fran, god help him—Regis would sic his lawyers so fast the man would wish he’d never thought to try his hand at knock-off Armani ensembles…

The hotel staff was expecting him. They had a room in his name—and his credit card on file; Theresa had no compunctions about tossing that around it seemed. The penthouse, as promised. It was already available for check-in. (That was the kind of expediency Regis appreciated. He had to hand that to Theresa.) They asked if Regis needed anything prepared before he went up.

He thought for a moment. Then he said, “I’d like the dinette to be prepared with a table cloth and place settings for two.” 

“Certainly, sir.” The concierge typed a few things into her computer. “Anything else?”

Regis debated asking for an arrangement of flowers. Most women would appreciate a display like that—the bigger the better, in Regis’s experience. But Fran? Fran was not most women. With Regis’s luck, he’d order a $200 arrangement only to have Fran not even blink when she laid eyes on it. Or to simply sniff and turn away. 

He checked his watch again. Well, anyway, there was no time. “No, that’ll be all.” 

“Excellent.” The concierge got out from around the desk and held her hand out to elevator. “Use any phone to dial room service. Please enjoy your stay.”

Regis nodded. That strange scruffy man was still staring at him when the elevator doors closed. Odd. 

Fortunately, the penthouse suite was pleasing enough. The bedroom adjoined to a small dining room, where a dinette set was already prepped as Regis asked. The living room was large and quite luxurious; a 65 inch television presided on one side, floor to ceiling windows on the other. The bathroom was equipped with both a stand-up shower and a hot tub. Regis could arrange the lights to twelve different settings. 

It would do.

He helped himself to a nip of vermouth from the mini fridge while he waited for Fran. The doctors told him to watch his alcohol intake after his collapse, and he’d obliged up until this point. But tonight all bets were off. Besides, this vermouth was actually very good. Regis had half a mind to order a bottle of the stuff and keep it on hand just in case he needed more liquid courage (or…mind-muddling, the case may be) as the night went on. 

Soon enough, there was a gentle knock at the door. 

Regis sucked in a breath, trying to gather himself. He hadn’t laid eyes on Fran since before he’d learned about her…transition. He didn’t know how she would appear to him now. If somehow that knowledge might change her outward appearance. If the rosiness in his rose-colored glasses might have well and truly faded. 

In a way he hoped it had. In another way, he sorely hoped not. 

Torn in two minds, Regis answered the door. The sight that greeted him was like a shot between the eyes. Even after everything he’d done with Fran—she’d gotten him off over a dozen times by now—he just wasn’t ready.

Fran stood there in a short black dress. Short wasn’t…entirely the right word. The dress was fitted from top to bottom, sleeveless, and it came down to the middle of her thigh. But it…rode up in the middle in an upside down v shape. Hinting at the space in between—not to mention the top. The bust of the dress wrapped around her breasts in a plunging v-neck that went past her sternum. Regis had a clear view of the soft curves on the sides of both her breasts—accentuated by a long silver necklace that hung delicately in between them.

Regis wanted to take that necklace in his teeth. Rest his head in that divine space. Fuck, no, he wanted to _be_ that necklace! Swinging free of care, kissing the skin of her tits every time Fran stepped. A glorious life! (Fair to say, Regis had never wished so badly to be a piece of jewelry before, but. It was a night of firsts.) 

“Hello.” Fran was holding a black satin clutch bag in one hand and balancing her weight expertly on a pair of black stiletto sandals. This time her toes, as well as her fingernails, were painted pink. The outfit seemed as comfortable for her as a pair of sweatpants. She looked natural and unselfconscious. 

“H-hel…Good evening.” Regis cleared his throat, doing his damndest to meet Fran’s eyes instead of keeping his gaze fixed squarely on her chest. 

…One thing had been answered. This person in front of him was no man. No, god no! Fran was purely and unequivocally a woman! No matter what information Regis had, nothing in the world could make him devalue the proof of his own eyes. Fran bore all the small, invisible tells of her gender—in every step, every sweep of her eyes, her posture, her bearing…she was a woman.

No doubt about that.

Regis closed his eyes. A wave of relief washed over him at first; there was no frightening revelation in his own orientation to be found here. Fran was a woman, exactly what Regis had been attracted to his whole life. That was no trick of the light or any willful ignorance. No. Fran was a woman, and she’d be a woman no matter where she went or what she wore. Once that dilemma had passed, however, Regis felt an entirely different sense of dread: If there was nothing holding him back, then…he was lost. Dead in the water. Drowning. Adrift in the sea of everything Fran was, everything she meant to him…

He wanted to pull her in for an embrace. Feel her breasts squish against his chest. The warmth of her skin. He wanted to kiss the side of her neck, cover his face with her bushy white hair…to smell her. That intimate, womanly smell he knew she had. Mixed with her perfume. Tonight it was like sweet maple syrup and pine needles.

Goosebumps broke across Regis’s arms and legs as he imagined holding her. He could feel his dick hardening—so soon! Dear god, whatever cure Fran had bestowed upon him, it was almost too effective!—already eager for her hands. The weight of her body. Perhaps she had trained him that way. Like Pavlov’s dog salivating for a treat, Regis would harden every time Fran flicked her wrist and showed off the divine slope of her fingers. 

But Regis didn’t care. She could train him all she liked. He would welcome it! As long as it meant he could relish Fran’s touch in some capacity… 

Once again he stood there adjusting to the sight of her. His mind seemed to slow in her presence. He understood now the sentiment behind the word ‘cowed.’

Fran reached out a hand. Regis thought she was going to brush the side of his face—like she often did after he climaxed—and his eyelids flickered, dying to close against her fingers…but instead, she put her hand on the door. Pushing it open a bit wider so Regis could see there was another man standing next to her.

It was the same boorish man with the Armani suit, that face screwed up into a scowl. Regis straightened to his full height, unsure why the man had come all the way up here with Fran—

“This is Basch,” Fran explained. “He’s a friend of mine. He’ll be waiting outside our room tonight. Keeping his ears open.” 

The man named Basch grunted and stuck his hands in his pockets. He leaned against the wall in the hallway, displaying how comfortable he could make himself. Doing nothing but listening in. Regis wanted to be insulted—he was, of course, right away—but then it occurred to him that Basch was a failsafe. Quality assurance. He was there to ensure that nothing…untoward happened to Fran. That she could call on him should she be pressured into something she did not want to do. And, Basch would also be there to hold her accountable. A witness to report to Theresa that the transaction had been completed. 

Regis glared at the man. He hated that Basch’s presence was necessary. The man served as a reminder that this was not a real date. This was a business transaction. And he was there to watch over the merchandise.

“Don’t fret,” Fran continued, tossing her hair over one shoulder. “Basch is a diminutive presence…despite his appearance.” She glanced at the man and he nodded respectfully. “We won’t be interrupted.” 

Regis looked away. He was suddenly ashamed that a thug like Basch would know the truth of all this. He didn’t know why, really. Transactions like this were no secret in Perfect Harmony. No, the problem lay with Basch himself. His appearance. So brutish! A glimpse of the darker side to all this! 

That, and…well, Basch looked so virile compared to Regis. He was easily twice the man Regis was. Sturdy, strong, and young. He served as yet another reminder that Regis was a poor choice in partner for Fran. The youthful vigor in her needed someone more like Basch, that was plain enough to see…

But none of that mattered! Regis closed the door firmly behind Fran (more or less in Basch’s face). He had the money to pay for Fran. Basch didn’t. If nothing else, that was quite the score in Regis’s favor! 

…And yes, it did occur to him that he was being painfully jealous. Not exactly a feeling Regis was accustomed to. Really, he had everything. What was there to envy? But being around Fran messed with his head. Made him feel all kinds of things he’d never fully felt before.

“Come in,” Regis offered. He led the way through the penthouse. “Let me know if there’s anything you’d like. A glass of water, some champagne…” 

When he turned around, Fran was gone. He gasped and retraced his steps, only to find her standing in the living room. Eyes darting to and fro. Taking in the wide expanse of the suite. 

“Is everything to your liking?” Regis asked. For a moment he was unsure if she found the place droll or uncouth in some way.

“…Yes,” Fran replied after a moment. “Yes, it’s very nice.” 

Relieved, Regis broke into a soft smile. She must be impressed then. “I’m glad you think so. Have you been to many…hotels?” (Kind of an awkward question considering the context, but Regis suddenly had a desire to know.)

“…I have. But none like this.” Fran turned towards Regis. She seemed to size him up quietly in her own way. This was, after all, the first real display of his wealth Regis had ever shown her.

“Well, as I said, let me know if you need anything.” Regis stood aside and showed Fran the dinette set that was waiting for them.

She tilted her head to one side. Face unmoving. Still and serious, as always. She was reading the situation, walking over on careful feet. Taking her place on one side of the table as was implied. She set her bag down at her feet, unsure where else to put it.

“Let me take that for you,” Regis said, heart twitching with affection. Only women who were inherently afraid of theft kept their bags so close. 

It had become clear that Fran was not at all accustomed to a high-class lifestyle. 

He liked that about her.

Eyes sharp and wary, Fran handed her clutch to Regis. He put it on the counter next to the mini-fridge, well within eyesight. Just to make Fran comfortable. She nodded and crossed her legs, taking in her surroundings as if someone might challenge her a fight in the next few minutes.

This was not Fran’s natural environment. Not like the candlelit rooms of the massage parlor. Here Fran was out of her element. She was on guard, like a gazelle with its ears up. Ready to bolt should she need to.

Regis fumbled. He realized he honestly didn’t know how to reassure her. How could he prove his intentions—that he was sincere in wanting her, that his biggest fantasy was to worship her? No, no. That was too much. Too intense. Regis needed to relax. Nothing would come from being too hasty in times like this! Regardless of what they did in the shadows at Perfect Harmony—even if Fran had gotten him off a hundred times!—here he needed to treat her like a first date. 

Right. Yes. Genteel. Respectful and attentive.

…How did one do that, again? 

Regis scratched his ear. Perhaps he should have looked on the internet for some pointers about how to treat women on a first date…it had been so long since the last time…he was out of practice. What a fool. 

Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Regis sat across from Fran and offered her the wine list. “Would you like something to drink?” he asked. Hoping some wine might ease the way. 

Fran took the list but immediately passed it back to him. “I don’t drink alcohol very often. I wouldn’t know what to pick.” 

“Oh, I see.” So she was one of those people who didn’t indulge in drinking. Regis tucked the information away, making sure to remember that. He found it quite classy, actually, and was impressed. It had been a while since he met someone so young who practiced temperance. “Well then. I’ll order a bottle of wine for the both of us and you can have as much or as little as you like.” 

Fran nodded. It was a short, one way nod. Like a way of showing thanks. 

Regis allowed himself another moment to stare at her. She was exquisite, even just sitting there. The harsh cut of her shoulders juxtaposed against the sensual arc of her breasts…a body that deserved to be on the front page of every magazine. And her face. So alert. Not demure at all, no. Fran’s eyes were bold. Reading her environment with scrutiny. Dear lord, Regis would love to know what she was thinking…

But when her eyes landed on his, Regis looked hastily back to the wine list. He didn’t want to be caught staring for some reason. After all, he stared at her all the time. Even got off staring at her boobs bouncing gracefully as she stroked him with fluid ease. But, this was different. Neither of them were naked right now. They were out of the massage parlor, somewhere in society. Or, mostly. 

He wanted Fran to see him as a normal man. A capable, wealthy man who could provide for her if that’s what she wanted. Not a lovesick puppy (even though that’s what he was on the inside). 

So. He needed to put on airs. Regardless of his skin tingling under his suit, begging for her hands (which were clasped in her lap). Or his lips twitching against his mustache, longing for a taste of her sweet skin…something he’d never had before, but that he fantasized about constantly…

Yes, no. Regis would ignore all that. Focus on the wine list in front of him (rather perfunctory in its selection despite the presentation). His body had been asleep for decades and now it was too awake for its own good. 

“Tell me what you’d like to eat,” Regis said, trying not to sound pushy. But what did people talk about in restaurants except what to eat, or their business…? “I’ll find something that makes a good pair.”

“Mm.” Fran picked up her menu. She glanced over it a few times, then swiftly said, “I’ll have the salmon.” 

Regis nodded, looking at his own menu to see how the salmon was cooked. These things mattered when pairing a wine. Ah, it was poached salmon with beurre blanc. So definitely a white wine, then. A Chardonnay of course. But which one? The hotel seemed to offer a modest variety, nothing to write home about, but enough that Regis needed to make a decision. Should he go with the burgundy or the petit chablis? He wondered which would appeal to Fran more, a nuttier taste or a steelier taste? Oaked or unoaked? Buttery or citrusy? 

He opened his mouth to ask, then realized that Fran probably didn’t have much of a preference. Since she didn’t drink.

Hmm, better go with the chablis then. The alcohol taste was not as strong. As for his own food, Regis didn’t really care. He figured he’d order the salmon too; not much besides fish paired with a chardonnay. 

He stood to make the call to room service, then remembered he should check that Fran was settled. “Is that all you’re having?” He quickly added, “Or can I get you anything else?” 

He needed to make sure his words did not come out salty or bitter. Yes, Regis knew his own tendencies. But tonight he…wanted to be different. Just for a night. 

“No, thank you, I’m fine.” Fran sat at the table, eyeing the window behind them as if it were a tv. Taking in the sights with a pedestrian kind of interest. 

“…Alright.” So Regis called in the order and sat back down. He glanced out the window, trying to see what Fran saw. But there were only high-rise buildings smooshed together across the line of the riverside. Nothing special.

“The west side never changes, it seems,” Regis said. Casting about for casual conversation topics. “Every day they build more of these complexes. Can’t remember the last time there wasn’t any construction going on.” 

“Mm, yes.” Fran nodded, eyes fixed on the window. “It feels…crowded here. Even though we’re so high up.” 

Crowded was a good word for it. Although, that was nothing new as far as the city was concerned. “I suppose this is a different atmosphere than the neighborhood where you live.” 

Regis hadn’t meant anything by it. He was simply making an observation—and maybe, secretly, hoping that Fran would talk a little about her own neighborhood. Only because he wanted to know more about her. Maybe she would even talk about where she was from, her hometown, because Regis had had no luck placing her accent. 

But Fran stiffened when he made that comment. Giving him a look that was harsher than a stare. Severe. Vigilant. Fran’s guard was still firmly in place.

Regis’s face reddened as he realized his blunder. Too personal, too soon. He’d walked right into that one! And it was literally his first attempt at conversation! 

Alright so he wasn’t the best conversationalist.

He looked away for a moment. Then he made a decision. Enough of this farce. These airs and this awkward display of a poorly contrived personality. Regis would not survive the night if he had to keep this up! He should just be honest with Fran. Honest about his failings and about his wants. Nothing else would work in a situation like this.

And, to be fair…Fran had already seen him at his weakest. A scrap of a man who could barely stand on his own two feet. Passed out and drooling from an orgasm that shook him to his core. Their relationship had started there. What could be more embarrassing than that? 

Regis almost laughed at himself. “Forgive me, I…well, you see, it’s been many years since the last time I’ve done something like this."

Fran titled her head to the side. Her face softened a fraction. “Like this? Like…what?” 

Really, any aspect of this whole evening. But Regis was referring to one thing in particular. He shrugged and turned his palms up helplessly. “Since I’ve been on a date with a beautiful woman.” 

Fran’s eyes widened as she took that in. She froze for a moment then she covered her face with the back of one hand. Stifling a giggle. Hiding a cherubic smile. 

Regis chuckled along with her. The sight of Fran laughing was intoxicating, and deeply contagious. He didn’t quite know what she found so funny—was it him? Or what he said? What they were doing here?—but it didn’t matter. He’d made her smile, and that was a victory in itself. 

He wished he knew how he’d done it, though. Because he wanted to do it again. Many more times, if possible. The world needed more of Fran’s laugh. That was undeniably true. 

“So that’s what this is, then?” Fran asked, shaking her hair down her back. “A date?"

“Well, yes.” Regis had assumed so because of what Theresa said. Maybe unjustly! “That is, if you’re alright with it.”

Fran’s face went back to its natural, serious state. She glanced away and nodded. Contemplative. Almost…shy—but Regis knew better than to use that word.

She took a deep breath and laid her hands in the table. Fingers laced on top of one another. Regis could not help staring at those hands, like a bee suckling on nectar. He wanted to cover her hands with his own, to guide them to his lips and lather them with kisses…

“I am not…so used to dates, either,” Fran admitted. “It’s been a while for me, too.”

Regis shook his head in disbelief. How was it possible? Fran must be fighting back offers left and right from all her clients! Hell, even outside of work, she was beautiful enough to attract strangers on the street! 

He so badly wanted to ask why she didn’t date. But before he got the words out, Regis considered how he would feel if Fran asked the same of him. Why he didn’t go out. His answers were feeble at best. Work and Aulea and…all of that.

These things were complicated, Regis figured. It must be the same for Fran. She had her reasons. So, instead of prying, Regis thought it best if he erred with caution. Let Fran interject where she would. 

“Then, I appreciate you agreeing to meet with me,” he said. “Since it’s something you don't normally do.” 

Fran stared down at her hands. “Mm. I admit, I was surprised when Mother told me you wanted to meet outside of the rooms.” (So that’s what she called it, ‘the rooms.’)

“Surprised? Why?” 

“Well, I’ve had a few regular clients in the past. But not many. They all preferred to see me on a monthly basis. Every now and then until they were satisfied. None ever asked…” She glanced back up at Regis.

“None?” He frowned. In order for that to be possible, Fran must be relatively new. “How long have you been working at that parlor?” 

“Three years.”

Oh. Not so new, then.

“Before that I did…other things.” She met Regis’s gaze head on. Defiant. Unashamed of her work, but not interested in going into details. “It’s better to be working for Mother. She looks out for us. Things are easier now.” 

Regis nodded. He couldn’t imagine her line of work at all, but he wouldn’t pretend to think it was easy. He hoped with all his might that Fran had not been through anything like…well. He’d never ask her the specifics. Not unless she volunteered the information herself. 

“Usually, clients that want to meet outside are there for one-time-only. They come in once and then want something more.” Fran picked up her napkin and placed it hesitantly in her lap. Like an afterthought. “And for those clients…I’m not the therapist they’d be interested in.” 

“Why is that?” 

“Because I don’t agree to one night stands.” Fran re-crossed her legs. “Not anymore. It’s too risky for me. Those clients tend to ask for things I don’t want to give. And I don’t need the money that badly now, since I’ve been with Mother for years. I only agreed to meet you because…” She paused for a moment. “…You’re a regular.” 

Ah. Regis had a better sense of the picture now. Fran’s predilections were based on…safety. He didn’t quite understand that part so much, but. 

He was willing to learn.

If only Fran knew—fuck, maybe she already did— _why_ Regis was a regular. What it was that drew him back to her, time and time again. No. If she had any idea then she wouldn’t need to explain herself. To keep her guard so firmly in place. If she knew the way Regis felt about her—

With a succinct knock on the door, their food arrived. One of the hotel staff served them, pouring some wine into Regis’s glass to let him taste it. The chablis was a bit milder than he expected, but perhaps that was for the better. The salmon smelled wonderful. Fran poked it a few times, cutting the smallest bite for herself and sampling it. 

“How is it?” Regis asked, ready to send it back if she was not pleased.

Fran nodded and took another bite. “It’s very good.”

Immensely relieved, Regis smiled at her. He ate some of his own dish (it was alright, by his standards) and then prompted her to try the wine. He was confident in his pairing; his sense for these kinds of things was still strong. Thankfully.

Fran raised the glass to her lips, wrinkling her tiny nose when she smelled the alcohol. (Regis’s heart couldn’t handle that nose, especially without being able to kiss it. So adorable!) She took the barest minimum of a sip, wetting her lips, and shivered. 

“It’s sour. And a bit like…ash.” She curled her lips inward, sampling the flavor. “But the aftertaste is like fruit.” Her eyes brightened. Intrigued, she took another sip (a bigger one this time).

Regis claimed that as his second victory. He nodded happily. “Yes. You have quite the discerning palate. The grapes are from the northernmost part of Burgundy where the climate is cool. Gives the wine a sort of flint-like taste.” He refilled her glass, eyes twinkling. “If you like the fruity notes, we should try a white burgundy next time. Or maybe a Riesling.” 

Fran listened as he went off on a tangent about the different types of white wine. Regis didn’t consider himself a connoisseur, but he knew enough to request what he liked and appreciate the finery in what he was served. 

If Fran was a blank slate in terms of taste, oh. He could show her so many different types. Let her figure out what she liked. He’d love to take her on a wine tour. Fucked if he knew why; he’d been on a number of those in the past and always found them boring as sin. But, with Fran, who saw things so differently than he did, who was careful and measured in her sampling of things…Regis imagined it would be fascinating. Insightful, even. He could surprise her at the end by pinpointing the exact flavor she liked best—knowing it before she did, even. Buying her an expensive bottle…

But, before he whisked her away to some chateau in France, they needed to survive this night.

Regis sipped his wine and tried not to get carried away in his fantasies. It was difficult.

He glanced at Fran, shy himself now. Could she see the part of him that was so very lost? Certainly she must be able to sense it. How did she feel about that, having Regis at her beck and call? More to the point, how did she feel about him—

Fran put down her glass and shook out her hair again. Her eyes were set. Determined. She pushed her chair back a little, signaling that she was done with her meal. Neither of them had really eaten much. Just a few bites, a few sips. 

Regis’s heart thudded in his chest. The wine almost dribbled down his chin as he was caught off guard by the sight of Fran un-crossing her legs. He could watch those legs all day and all night, like every movement was an Olympic sport. Such rivetingly beautiful legs. Bare. Long, buttery and smooth…

“So.” Fran crossed her arms around her stomach. Defensive. “…Mother told you about me?”

Cold sweat broke across Regis’s back. Wow. They were actually going to talk about this. “About….yes.” 

Fran nodded. She seemed a bit withdrawn suddenly. Eyes distant. No trace of a smile on her face.

Where had it gone? Regis longed to reach out a hand and stroke her cheek. To coax that happy little smirk back to her lips—

“And does it matter to you?” she demanded. 

That was a complicated question. On the one hand, of course it _mattered_ to him! Regis had been going through a sizable sexual orientation crisis these past few days, thinking about it. Although, sitting across from Fran, all of his doubts evaporated like bubbles in a champagne glass. She was every bit the woman he’d become so…enamored with. And in spite of everything, here he was. 

How should he explain that to Fran? He wished he could be more debonair and modern. Pretend like such things never crossed his mind or that he hadn’t struggled even a bit—but that would be a lie. Regis was not so chivalrous, it seemed.

So he answered with another question. “Should it?” 

Fran’s head tilted slightly. As it did when she was considering something, Regis learned. He wondered if he had offended her in some way, but then slowly her face relaxed. By degrees. 

“I suppose not. At least, not if you’re willing to go any farther than this.” 

Regis licked his lips. He pushed his chair back as well. Hands in his lap. Waiting for instructions. 

“I’m willing.” It was straightforward as he could be. Regis didn’t want any confusion in this part: He wanted Fran. In every way it was possible to want. 

Fran smiled. There it was, finally. Soft but confident. A sign that she was comfortable. Thank goodness. 

Regis sunk into his chair as she stood and slowly approached him. When she was within arm’s reach, Regis lifted his hands. She towered over him like a goddess. He wanted to feel every inch of her. To get down on his knees and kiss her, from her toes to the very last hair on her scalp. To know her, intimately. Her tastes and smells. To put his mouth to work pleasuring her and learning exactly how she liked to be touched. 

Still smiling, Fran tucked some hair behind Regis’s ear. He shivered at the touch. Carefully, spreading her legs like a practiced athlete, Fran straddled Regis and perched herself in his lap. Settling until she found her balance. 

Regis moaned. At last, he could feel the weight of her. And the heat. There was warmth spreading into his lap from in between her legs. A secret place, one that fried Regis’s mind just to think about. His hands quivered as they hovered over Fran’s waist. 

He needed permission, his brain told him. Fran called all the shots here. 

“Can I touch you…?” he asked. His voice was quiet but thick. Almost foreign to his ears

“Yes.” 

Fran looked deeply into his eyes. Watchful. When she stared at him like that, it was almost hard to move. Despite the unbridled hunger inside of him, Regis had to go slow. He laid is hands on her waist and carefully slid them upwards. Her back and her shoulders. So slim underneath the fitted dress. He moaned again, eye level with her breasts. 

For a while he touched her just like that. Her waist, her arms, her back. It was glorious to learn her curves. Where her bones were. Regis was almost afraid to ask for more.

Fran leaned in closer. Her warm, wine-sweet breath brushing his lips. “What exactly do you want tonight, Mr. Caelum?” 

It was the first time she’d ever addressed him by name. And it sounded…wrong. He shook his head, already tired of the title. “Regis…” he said, running his thumbs along the soft flesh on her underarms. “Please, call me…Regis.” 

Fran’s eyes flashed. Surprised. But she let him keep touching her, sliding her arms all the way through his hands so that she could lace their fingers together. “Alright…Regis.” 

He was entranced by the sight of their fingers intertwined, the sound of his name on her lips. His mind was gone. Regis would admit that. After all, there was only so much blood in his body and all of it had decided to flow straight into his manhood. He was hard as steel beneath his dress slacks. Painfully hard. The kind of hard-on that made it difficult for him to speak or even process words. His thoughts were preoccupied only with the promise of the warmth between her legs. Sweet ambrosia. He wanted to…

His head already so foggy with desire, Regis lost control for a split second. He bucked his hips upwards ever so slightly. Trying to make contact with the alluring promise of Fran’s heat. He hadn’t even really intended to it. It just…happened. 

And he was immediately ashamed, of course. Rutting like an animal. Especially in front of Fran, who was so refined, so very far above that kind of debasement.

But Fran just hummed quietly. She trailed her hand down his chest until she reached the bulge in his slack. She cupped it and squeezed, caressing his straining manhood. Trapping it beneath the zipper. 

“Oh…” Regis squeezed his eyes closed and groaned deep in his throat. He honestly didn’t know how long he could last like this. Fran in his lap, looking as ravishing as she did. Promising him more… “Fran, please…I…” 

Nodding, Fran pressed her lips close to his ear. Shoving her hair in his face, which only made things worse for Regis. She kissed his jaw—the lightest brush of her lips in the place where his neck met his chin. It sent tremors through his whole body. He rutted against her hand, shaming himself infinitely more in the process.

He just couldn’t help it.

“We can take things slow, or we can go fast,” Fran explained gently. She kept her hand in place, even though Regis was exploiting it like a pervert. “I could get on my knees and suck you. Quite thoroughly. Until you pass out like you did that first time I worked on you.” She brushed his earlobe with her tongue to hint at her intentions.

Regis almost passed out right then and there. The image of Fran, kneeling between his legs like she belonged there, his cock in her mouth. Would he be able to see himself pressing against the inside of her cheek? And oh, that tongue. Regis had no doubt he would be absolutely unmade by Fran’s tongue. 

“Or…” Fran continued, popping the button of Regis’s fly. Teasing him with the promise of release. “You could unzip my dress. And I’ll ride you, right here, until your needs are met.” 

Well. If Regis had to choose between the two options, then there was no contest. Sure, a blowjob from Fran was probably fantastic but…strangely enough, Regis had not fantasized about that before. He didn’t get his pleasure from imagining Fran on her knees, swallowing him down. No. In every fantasy he’d ever had, he was holding her and fucking her. Slotting himself between her legs and plunging inside…

So, without any hesitation, he reached for the zipper in the back of her dress. 

“Hmm,” Fran mused. “I had a feeling you would choose this.”

Ears ringing, eyes bulging, Regis unzipped her and watched as the tight fabric became loose. When he reached the bottom, Fran stood up and casually dropped her dress. Stepping out of the fabric with practiced ease.

She stood before him. Naked except for a tight black g-string and her stilettos. 

“Oh, God…” Regis’s entire body lurched forward, dying to be with her. He unzipped his own pants and pulled them down, more than ready to make good on what Fran offered. They pooled around his ankles—he must look so horribly ridiculous, but he couldn’t even bring himself to care. 

Fran was right there in front of him. Breasts on full display, relaxing into a set of natural teardrops. The brown expanse of her body…everywhere…waiting for him—

“Stop.” Fran caught his hands before he could touch her. “Wait a moment."

Like a dog told to stay, Regis sat back down in his chair. No questions asked. He watched with bated breath as Fran walked to the mini-fridge to retrieve her clutch. He got a rather good look at her backside. The string of her panties was tucked carefully between her ass cheeks. It looked uncomfortable, but Regis just wanted to follow the line of that fabric with his tongue, his fingers, his dick…

Fran set her bag on the table and faced Regis again. He swallowed audibly. Ready to be told what to do. 

“I have one rule,” Fran dictated. She swept a hand across the top of her breasts, shaking away any stray hairs. Regis stared at the hand as if hypnotized. “You can touch me anywhere, except…here.” 

With the same dainty hand, Fran covered the front of her panties. Where her genitals would be. “This place is off limits. No exceptions.” 

Regis blinked rapidly, sucking down his own spit. He understood. So that was Fran’s limitation. She didn’t want anyone touching her…there. The one part of her that did not match the presentation of her body. 

That was fine by Regis. He didn’t know how to process that particular place on Fran’s body yet. He hadn’t really imagined touching it. Or seeing it. Up until now, Regis’s attention had been fixated elsewhere…so this worked out well. If Fran didn’t want him to touch her in that place, then he could avoid it without looking like he was trying. 

And really…Regis couldn’t work up the nerve to contemplate all of that right now. He just wanted to make Fran happy. If that’s what she said to do, then…that’s what he would do!

“I understand,” he croaked. He opened his arms, inviting her in. “But everywhere else…?” 

“Everywhere else is fine.” Fran stepped into his embrace. “Just…slowly.” 

Regis nodded, pressing kisses to her taut stomach. “As you wish.” 

Slowly, she said. Regis could do that. No, he would have to! Because yes of course, the urgency in his veins threatened to take over, and once it did he would be driven to manhandle Fran like there was no tomorrow. But that was not what Fran wanted. No. She wanted him to be gentle. To be able to anticipate his touches. No surprises. He read that perfectly well.

So he would do his damnedest to be just what she liked.

He licked her navel, taking mouthfuls of her flesh with leisurely relish. Her skin was velvet on his tongue. Sweet with a hint of saltiness—the natural taste of sweat. His tongue traced patterns into her taut stomach. Feeling. Taking his time. 

Regis heard her stutter a sigh as he licked the side of her right breast. He took it as all the liberty in the world. 

He laid his hands on both her tits, cupping those mounds as if he were handling two delicate faberge eggs. They were little more than handfuls, but that suited Regis just fine. Her nipples pebbled against his palm and he moaned at the feel of them. He kissed her sternum. Hoping that his love was apparent enough like this. 

“Hnnh…you’re very passionate,” Fran commented. She combed her fingers through Regis’s thick grey hair. Petting him. 

He grinned up at her from between her breasts. Her smell was everywhere. He was drunk off it, nothing more than a grinning fool at this point. But what did that matter? Keeping his gaze locked on her red oaken eyes, Regis slipped his lips over to her nipple. 

First he licked her, pleased at the hissing sound she made. Then he took that dark brown nub into his mouth. Suckling her. Not even ashamed at the sound it made. Fluttering his tongue against her hardening bud, sucking her in all the way around her areola. 

“Ah…ha…Regis…” A tremor passed through Fran. Regis could feel it in his hands and his mouth. He was absolutely delighted! He sucked her harder, realizing this got some kind of reaction out of Fran. 

“Sssss…” Pulling in air between her teeth, Fran’s fingers scratched Regis’s scalp. Lightly. With just enough entropy to remind Regis that those painted fingernails could really hurt him if she lost control. 

He let his mouth fall from her skin. Planting a soft kiss on that nipple—as if sorry to leave it alone—Regis turned his head to give the same attention to the other side. Still measured and easygoing. Not trying to startle Fran. But he sucked her just as hard, even moaning into her flesh as mouthed at the soft cushion of her breast. 

If only Fran would let him reside right there. Indefinitely. He would pay rent, he didn’t care! This space between her breasts was prime real estate. Regis buried his nose against the underside of her tit. Inhaling. Content in the extreme.

Except…

Regis pulled Fran closer, slotting his legs between her own. He was careful to push his thigh to the side—so that he did make contact in the place Fran had explicitly told him not to go—but he pressed his own leaking hardness into Fran’s lean, muscular thigh. 

“Ah, Fran…I want you so badly…” Regis was already wet through his designer brand boxers. Like a teenager. A boy. 

But so be it. He couldn’t hide the effect Fran had on his body. There was no way! 

“I see…” Fran mewled. She ran her thumb over the tip of his manhood, sampling the soaked fabric. “….Here.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a small aluminum square. Regis knew what it was (but it…sort of alarmed him that he had not considered such a thing until Fran pulled it out). He ripped it open while Fran rolled down the hem of his boxers. Exposing him to the air.

God, the sight of him. Regis still did a double take sometimes when he saw himself at full hardness. That was really him, wasn’t it? This thick rod, pulsing with life. Dripping at the tip. Eager. 

When Regis was hard like this, he entertained no trace of inferiority. All of that had been erased from his mind. He just wanted to share this burgeoning cock with Fran, the woman who had brought it back to life in the first place. He wanted to please her with it. Out of fairness.

He rolled the condom on, unused to the tight feeling at the base of his dick. It had been many years since the last time he wore a rubber. They were…a bit more comfortable now, actually. Stretchier, pre-lubricated. Cheers to that. 

Fran also pulled out a small tube. It looked like hand cream, but Regis knew better. The stuff was clear when she spread it on her fingers. She reached behind herself, keeping her eyes locked on Regis’s face. She groaned as she worked herself. The sounds were quite audible, but everything was hidden from sight. 

“I can…” Regis offered, thumbing the string of her panties (which were still firmly in place). 

Fran blinked hard. “It’s better if I do it.” 

Regis nodded. He didn’t know why he felt slightly…disappointed. As if he’d been cheated of the opportunity to stretch Fran himself. Not that he had any experience prepping a woman’s backside—Aulea had never let Regis partake in the splendors of her back door, and he’d never really pushed the issue—but…still. Regis wanted to feel that part of Fran. 

The inside. 

If she needed to be prepped, then…Regis wanted to do that for her. Or at least learn how she liked it. 

But, these were her rules. So Regis rubbed her breasts and let her finish. 

“There,” Fran said at last. Her fingers were slippery when she took them out. Regis had the strangest urge to suck them. Oh, to know her taste in that part of her…

She tossed her hair over her back and—to Regis’s great surprise—turned around. She straddled his lap again, this time in a reverse cowgirl position. Holding onto the table for leverage, where their unfinished meals still sat. 

“Go ahead,” Fran said, scooting her backside up closer to Regis’s yearning manhood. “As you like.” 

Regis let his eyes wander down Fran’s back. Well-trained muscles rippled beneath her skin, her white hair parting as she bent over to give him access. Her ass was as full as ever, draped over his lap like two downy pillows. Regis thumbed the thickest part of her cheeks, grunting in his throat like a deviant. 

The string of her panties was pushed aside. Leaving just enough space for Regis to get in. It seemed Fran would be wearing her panties the whole time. Keeping the…rest of her out of sight. 

Regis snapped the g-string with his finger. Just a bit. His cock twitched when she trilled in response. Alright, he couldn’t stop himself!

This was a wet dream come true. All those porn videos combined into one perfect, unassailable reality.

Tears sprang to his eyes when he pressed his cock to her asshole. “Tell me if…I’m…if you…yeah…”

It wasn’t a coherent thought, but Regis was not capable of that at the moment. Even before the pleasure came, Regis was enveloped by sheer joy that Fran would even let him do this. In his mind, he was not worthy of her. And yet, here she was, allowing him to breach her most intimate crevice…

There was a lot of resistance when Regis thrust inside. He could only make it about a third of the way before Fran gasped in pain.

“Slowly, slowly…!” she called, turning her head over one shoulder.

“I know, I know…I’m sorry…I…” Regis pulled out a bit. If he could only get this far in, then he would content himself with that. He would not allow himself to hurt Fran, not in the slightest. He would take whatever she could give him and no more.

She was so unbelievably tight! Like a vice, but hot. Warm around the tip of him. That feral heat Regis knew he would find here….her body temperature just ran hot. He could tell that from the moment he touched her. And here as well…

Regis was standing at the gates of heaven. She felt so good around him…even just this much. It would be more than enough for him. Yeah. No question.

He listened for signs of discomfort from Fran. But she was remarkably silent. 

Regis surmised that she must be in pain. “I can pull out if you want….” he offered. Yes. He would turn away from paradise itself if it meant keeping Fran from harm. Probably even just the memory of being inside of her would be enough anyway—

“No, no, it’s alright.” Fran let out a soft breath. “I’m just…adjusting. You can keep going.”

“Are you sure…?”

“Yes. Go a little deeper…” 

He wouldn’t wait to be told twice. (Those words in Fran’s voice…!) He pushed in about halfway, spasming in pleasure when he got there. 

Fuck fuck fuck….he would not last very long at all going like this. Fran was impossibly tight! Had she ever been fucked in the ass before? Certainly she must have been, but dear god…that was no lie when she explained that it had been a long time since her last date. The last man she’d been with.

“Ooohh….” Regis warbled as he realized what that meant. He was the first man to have Fran in a while. And oh, sweet heaven, that unearthed all kinds of manly urges inside of him. His instincts reared their heads, licking their chops as Regis rationalized that his was the first dick Fran had experienced in however long she’d abstained.

Yes. Yes, yes please. Yes…

“…How’s that?” he asked. His voice deeper on principle alone. Hips rocking slowly forward, not giving her any more than she could take.

“That’s fine. Keep going.” Fran moved her hips in time to his.

…Alright, his masculine pride shrank a little when he heard her assessment. ‘Fine.’ Not great or even good…just. Fine. Okay. 

Sulking slightly, Regis pushed in a little further. Fran moaned low, riding him steadily now. Up and down. Using the table to keep her balance.

Oh shit, Regis hoped this dinette chair would hold out! He couldn’t begin to tear his eyes away from the sight of his cock disappearing into Fran over and over again. Leaving a trail of lube across his shaft every time she pulled away. Only to plunge herself on him again. Making him see paradise. 

Regis choked out a sob. He was rapidly approaching the edge. Fran’s body had brought him there so quickly, so…efficiently. As always. He didn’t know if she was enjoying this—she wasn’t making much noise—but he had to believe that she wasn’t in pain. Since she kept riding him. Waggling her hips like she knew exactly what she was doing. 

That would have to suffice. Because Regis was using everything he had to sink further into her. Desperate. Dependent. Overcome with his own need, with Fran’s grace. She fucked him so beautifully. He never wanted her to stop…

With a harsh groan, Fran pushed herself all the way back. Taking Regis up to the hilt.

It was too much.

“Oh, F-fran for god’ssake—” He came. Her name and a variety of swear words on his lips. 

He latched his arms around her waist and rode out his orgasm, emptying himself into the condom as if it was his life’s purpose. He kept going, fucking her hard now. Rhythm broken. Just stuttering hips and shattered cries.

When he was finished, he collapsed forward. Burying his face in her hair. 

It wasn’t as though Regis passed out—nothing so serious—but he fell out of time for a moment. He couldn’t seem to orient himself. His body was so loose. Limber. Attached to Fran, without any memory of having been otherwise. When Fran sat up and pulled away, Regis was confused. Where was she going…? Weren’t they still fucking…? 

Seeing the full condom jogged his memory. Yes, he had finished. Fran showed mercy on Regis’s confused state and took care of the condom for him, tying it off around the end. She took Regis’s face in her hands. Assessing his condition. 

“It looked like you enjoyed that,” she noted.

Regis blinked sluggishly. Nodding without a word.

“Are you still with me…?” 

He took a deep breath. Trying to revive himself. It felt like part his soul had left his body with that orgasm. But Fran looked vaguely worried.

“Y-yes…I…I’m here.” This time, he raised his own hands to Fran’s face. Cupping her cheeks. They mirrored each other. 

She was all soft lines and warmth. His heart. His soul. Regis smiled at her. A full grin. She was still here…and he…still wanted…

“Can I kiss you?” he murmured.

Fran’s eyebrows twitched. But she hummed in consent and leaned forward, pressing their lips together gently. 

They’d done everything backwards, Regis realized. Especially by first date standards! They’d fucked at the dinner table and saved the kissing for last. Regis was still wearing his suit jacket, shirt and tie! 

Even so…that kiss. It was well worth the wait. Fran’s lips were gentle but unyielding. She did not submit to him, nor did she dominate him. She just responded to his movements, answering with her own energy. Keeping their lips locked together for as long as Regis liked. Letting him be the first one to pull away. 

He held her close, prompting Fran to sit back down in his lap. Facing him this time. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. They were holding each other. Neither one intent on moving away. 

Regis laid his face on her breasts. The joy singing through his veins was too much. A little frightening. But he had to ride it out. His body was empty of all its old tiredness—it had no choice in the matter. Making room for all of this happiness left no space for anything else! 

Fran giggled after a while. “Your beard is rough,” she commented.

“I’ll get rid of it.” That was Regis’s immediate answer.

At that, Fran laughed out loud. “No, no! That’s not necessary. Your beard is very distinguished. In fact it…pleases me.” She stroked his facial hair with her fingers.

Regis nodded, kissing her fingers as they passed. “Then I’ll keep it.” 

“Hm.” Fran waited another moment until it was clear Regis had no intention of letting her go. “Would you like to lay on the bed with me?”

“Yes.” He rose to his feet without planning ahead (forgetting that Fran was in his lap). Luckily, Fran caught herself. She recognized his eagerness for what it was and laughed the matter away. 

Helping him off with his clothes, Fran hung his suit jacket on the back of the chair. “This suit is nice,” she said, brushing the navy material with one hand.

“Thank you.” Regis laid on the lavish bed, naked as the day he was born. He should have had more modesty, but. Fran had seen him naked so many times before. “My son picked it out for me.”

“Oh.” Fran went to the bathroom to clean herself up. Over running water she said, “You have a son. How nice.” 

“…Yes.” Laying on the bed was dangerous. Regis might fall asleep at any moment. “Noctis is my son’s name. He’s a kind young man, but he’s…so often troubled.”

Fran emerged from the bathroom, still wearing her panties. They were an immovable fixture. “Troubled? How?" 

“He worries about things. He has anxiety.” Regis frowned. “And he’s…sad a lot. I don’t know why.” 

And why on earth was he telling Fran all this? Except for the fact that he was completely empty, unable to hold anything back at this point. Even his own personal details.

Fortunately, there was more to Noctis’s story that Regis could tell. “He’s gotten better recently, though. He’s happier now. I think. I wish he…well. I hope he knows how proud I am of him.” 

Fran’s eyes flicked over Regis as she considered that. She got into bed with him, snuggling up against his side. “You should tell him, then. That’s the best way for him to know, is it not?” 

Regis nodded. Of course she was right. And he would tell Noctis. Soon, definitely. How proud he was. How much he loved him. 

He wrapped Fran in his arms, slotting their bodies together. And yes, there. He felt it for a moment. An extra bundle of flesh between Fran’s legs where most women would have none. It was not very hard, but it was not completely soft either. That extra flesh was just kind of…there. 

Fran shifted her hips away from him as soon as it happened. Keeping her nether regions out of reach. In his sleepiness, Regis did not know why Fran was pulling away. He gripped her shoulders and pressed his face between her breasts. His favorite place.

“No, wait…just…a little longer, please…” he begged. He couldn’t bear for Fran to leave him like this. He wanted to spend the night with her. Together. And if that was impossible, then…as much time as she would allow.

“I’m here. Don’t fret.” Fran held him to her bosom and relaxed into the bed. She stroked the side of his face, easing Regis into a deep, comfortable sleep.

When they woke up a few hours later, Regis fucked her again. This time on the bed. With Fran on all fours, bending forward. They fucked until Regis's knees gave out and Fran had to ride him reverse again. He wished he could face her...but Fran just climbed on top of him and rode him until he was lost. No room for discussion. 

He didn’t even know how much he was going to be charged for all this. He didn’t care. Whatever number Fran told him, he would have paid. 

Unfortunately, when morning came, Fran was gone.

____________________________________________________

They met at the hotel many more times. Weeks went by. Regis needed to see Fran at least twice a week in order to be satisfied. He gave her his phone number and encouraged her to call him or even text. To his great surprise, Fran did text him every so often. Usually they were pictures of her day. The tea she ordered with breakfast. The sunrise from her daily run.

He learned her habits. Fran was very athletic and she kept a strict exercise regime. She ran five miles almost every morning, with yoga classes in the afternoon. If she didn’t go to yoga, then she did pilates. Usually those days she ran a little less in the morning. Saving her strength for the afternoon workout.

“You should come running with me some day,” Fran encouraged Regis one time. Weeks into their regular pattern of dates. “It would be very good for your body.” 

“You flatter me,” Regis said with a smile. “But I doubt I would be able to reach even ten paces alongside you, my dear.” Yeah Regis’s jogging days were pretty much done.

Fran contemplated that. Eventually she said, “Then I’ll go slower for you. When you’re with me.” 

The words made Regis's heart burst with affection. Fran offering to slow down for him (even though, yeah, it should have been insulting). Agreeing to alter her sacred workout routine meant quite a bit and he recognized that.

“Will you?” Regis asked. He wrapped her in his arms, cupping her breasts over her dress of the evening. “Maybe I’ll come along then. I would love to see you running…” He kissed up and down her neck.

“It’s nothing quite so marvelous,” Fran admitted. Raising one shoulder indifferently. “Just exercise.”

Didn’t she understand he could be mesmerized by the most mundane things? He could observe Fran washing the dishes like it was a spectator sport.

After about a month of this, Regis began to grow tired of Basch’s constant presence. The man was like a vulture waiting in the background, a death knoll for the passion of what they had. …Alright it wasn’t that bad, but Regis just didn’t like the idea of sharing his Fran's evenings with anyone else! He wanted their dinners to be theirs alone, no bodyguards or thugs. 

“Can’t you send him away tonight?” Regis entreated one evening.  


Fran seemed startled. “Basch? No. As long as I’m here he must also be.” 

Of course. They were in a hotel after all. Liability and everything…but that spoke to another of Regis’s burgeoning desires.

“…What if we weren’t here?” Oh how he wanted Fran to agree to this. For weeks now he’d dreamed about it. “What if you came to my place and we had dinner there?” (Dinner was their code for sex. Classy, in its own way.)

“Your place…?” Fran’s eyes shimmered with consideration. “But…we have this hotel. We always come here. Why would you want me at your place?” 

Regis sighed and pressed her hands to his face. “Because I want you everywhere.” 

She didn’t have much to say to that. They made love immediately after and once it was done, they returned to the conversation. 

“We don’t have to go to my place right away,” Regis offered. Compromising (a good business tactic, even though Regis hated the idea). “We could…go out for lunch sometime. No dinner. Just coffee—or tea, if you like. Anywhere is fine, except…not here. For once.” 

How could he make her understand that he didn’t want this penthouse suite to be the epitome of their relationship?

He wanted to take her places. Nice places, casual places. To sit with her in his apartment and do absolutely nothing. He wanted to go on vacations with her—yes, vacations, that’s right. The things Regis avoided like the plague. Not so much anymore, at least the idea of them. He wanted to show Fran new things! She approached the world with remarkable curiosity. Regis could enjoy himself by proxy, just staring at Fran. 

But if they had to start slow, then…coffee. Lunch. Someplace out of Basch’s reach where they could be a normal couple. A man and a woman enjoying each other’s company. 

“…Hm. I’ll give it some thought.” Fran pressed a finger to her chin. Thinking hard. “If you can tell me the name of a place then I’ll have a better idea.”

Regis fired off three places in rapid succession while they were laying there. 

“Alright, alright.” Fran laughed gently, combing her fingers through Regis’s hair. “I can see you’ve been wanting this. So…we’ll go, then. Yes?”

“Oh yes.” Giddy with victory, Regis kissed underneath her chin—the place she could not stand to be kissed without squirming. “You’d make me a happy man.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There must be one more! One more chapter! Then that's it, I promise!
> 
> Who am I kidding. I can't make promises like that. This fic has gotten so out of hand I can't even...
> 
> Their romance though <3 <3 <3 :') I'm such a sucker!!


	4. Magnolia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That's what you do, isn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh this chapter is way too long T___T It took my a month to write, but...I just really didn't want to split it into two! (Maybe I should have, idk. Sorry everybody!) 
> 
> So here's the ending ^___^ Feels, smut, feels, and more smut. That's basically the layout ;) Heads up for all the tagged stuff too!
> 
> *About Fran's nationality: On Fran’s wiki page it says that the North American localization team decided to give her an Icelandic accent. No one is entirely sure why (who can say why the localization team does what it does?), but it definitely stuck. So I’m headcanoning Fran as originally from Iceland here, since her voice is definitely the voice from the North American version. Hope that makes sense!

**Chapter Four: Magnolia**

Regis picked the perfect spot for their first lunch date. Sure, he agonized over the choice for some time before finally settling on a small cafe downtown with a fashionable menu, comfortable seating (couches and bistro tables), and scarves along the windows. The clincher for Regis was the demographic of the patrons: A good ratio of old people to young people. They wouldn’t have to feel self-conscious in a crowd like that.

A spring-autumn relationship still drew attention, despite how much the world had changed. So be it. The real shame would be for someone to see Fran as an opportunist, a ‘gold-digger.’ Regis’s wealth was difficult to hide and her beauty was a dead give away. But Regis would not tolerate anyone slandering Fran’s name like that. She was a professional first—and yes, a sex worker, but she did her job with class and the utmost attention to detail—and a lovely young woman. No one had the right to speak about her intentions as if they were unseemly. 

For the record, Regis wasn’t paying her to go out to lunch with him. He offered, but Fran just shook her head. She would allow him to pay for her tea (orange blossom with a touch of almond milk), but no more. 

This felt like a real date. She had agreed to meet him without obligation. Regis would sit at a hundred hipster bistro tables, the oldest fool in the room, if it meant he could be with Fran like that.

Natural. Normal. 

Even in casual clothes—an oversized sweater and black leggings, comfortable flats—Fran was ravishingly gorgeous. She tied her hair back and it swung from side to side as she walked. Her breasts were hidden underneath the bulk of the sweater, but Regis still knew they were there. The secret—the knowledge of  what those breasts looked like, felt like, tasted like—was just as arousing as the sight of cleavage. 

(Regis wanted to pull that sweater up, bury his face in underneath the fabric, and kiss her tits. There would be quite enough room for him. He would stay there until Fran grew tired of him, his persistent mouth, or until she herself got excited enough to take him to bed…) 

“Thanks for meeting me,” Regis said, pushing all those desires down into his subconscious. Later. He was getting rather good at nurturing fantasies without needing to act on them, even in Fran’s presence. Perhaps it was knowing he could have her that made him less desperate. Accessibility and willingness. These things calmed the firebrand of lust inside Regis. 

He learned how to fuel his desires carefully, waiting for the right time to act them out. Like feeding wood to a campfire throught the course of an evening, one log at a time. Stoking the flames to keep a steady, even burn. 

“You’re welcome,” Fran replied, easing into her seat. “This place is quite warm. It’s nice.” 

Regis sucked down some black coffee. Pleased in the extreme. “I’m happy you think so.” 

Realistically, Regis would be ready to fuck Fran anywhere and any way she liked. But it didn’t have to be all the time. He could wait. They could do other things beforehand. Like, talk. Converse. Then go for walks around the city, arm in arm. 

And so they did. They could talk for quite a while, as it turns out, when they went to the cafe together (which they did time and time again after it became clear this was a comfortable thing). About their day. Fran liked to talk about Mother, they seemed to be rather close. Regis told her about Clarus and his various exploits in the boardroom. She listened and so did he.

He learned a lot about Fran from those dates. Eventually he found out that she was from a small town outside Reykjavik. Iceland. It was one of the places Regis had never been (there weren’t too many of those, but alas she’d found one) and he wanted to hear a lot about it. She obliged, teaching him many things about the nature in Iceland. The landscapes, the hot springs, the fauna. Fran was very knowledgeable on the subject—the environmental science as well as the vistas, which she showed him on her phone—and Regis was genuinely interested to learn.

She explained that she kept in contact with her family “intermittently.” An odd word to use. Specific and formal. But she wouldn’t say anything else. Regis knew well enough not to pry. 

As time went on, he told her about Aulea. About who she was when she was alive. About her death. Fran was sympathetic but serious. She did not coddle and coo over the matter like some people might. When she heard about the way Aulea died—an unexpected death—she just nodded tightly, offered apologies, and tilted her head to the side. Letting Regis explain more if he wanted. He didn’t really want to, but he did explain more. In pieces. Little by little. Vignettes about their time together—Aulea and Regis had known each other for nearly twenty-five years, been together for fifteen, and married for ten. There was much to tell. But, generally, Regis preferred to speak about their happy memories. Their awkward fumbling as teenagers. Their wedding day. Long afternoons on the beach with Noctis. Noctis, barely a toddler, in Aulea’s arms at zoo, reaching for the tigers behind glass like they were just oversized cats. Innocent and completely unaware of the danger in those creatures…

Fran smiled when Regis talked about Noctis. She kept rapt attention, asking polite questions to spur Regis into telling more stories. He didn’t know what she liked about those stories—how could a young woman appreciate the distant nostalgia an old man had for lost days with his family? The trips down memory lane were nice though. And he liked appeasing Fran. If she wanted to hear stories, if that put such a marvelous, happy look on her face, well then. Regis had hundreds of stories tucked away. 

He really did. 

They kept their distance for a while. Just afternoon dates and nights at the hotel. Then, slowly, the walls fell away. Naturally and a little bit by chance. 

The first time Fran saw the inside of Regis’s apartment was not planned at all. That day, they had been talking casually at a cafe (they experimented with different ones here and there) when suddenly Fran seemed uncomfortable. As they talked, her eyes kept darting to the side. Sizing up the people around them. Normally Fran didn’t seem the least bit concerned about anyone in their vicinity; her natural confidence overruled things like that. But that particular afternoon, she seemed ill at ease. 

“…Is everything alright?” Regis asked gently. Leaning in, not trying to rush or startle her. 

Fran nodded silently. She remained silent for several minutes. She glanced at a group of young women who suddenly stood up and made their way to the ladies’ room, laughing loudly the whole time. Fran eyed them until they passed behind the door into the restroom, looking guarded. Defensive.

Regis tried to assess the situation. Since nothing like this—a confrontation with something uncomfortable—had ever happened before. “Do you know those women?” he asked, covering her hand with his own and keeping his voice delicate.

“Hm? Oh. No.” Fran’s brows knitted in distress. She sighed quickly, as if coming to a decision.

Then she snatched her hand away from his and stood up. Gathering her things. “I’m afraid I must be going. Mother Theresa expects me at work early tonight.” 

“What…work?” Regis knew for a fact that Fran had been asking for less hours lately. Partly because she needed more time to spend evenings with Regis and partly because…well. They were dancing around that second part. 

Fran looked at Regis with heavy eyes. “I’m sorry. I need to leave. Goodbye. I’ll…speak to you on the phone later.” 

“No, wait, Fran—”

She bowed uneasily, looking torn in so many directions. Hands clenched around her purse. Even the way she walked seemed stiff. Normally Fran was so fluid in every motion.

Something was wrong. Regis sat stunned for a moment before rising to his feet and following Fran out the door. 

“Fran, wait, please.” He touched her elbow. Yes, they were in public. Yes, the middle of the sidewalk. But only a few people were passing by. Plus, Regis needed to make sure she was alright! “What is it? Tell me. Perhaps I can help.” 

Fran groaned. An uncouth sound Regis had never heard before. “Regis, no. It’s nothing. You must trust me—”

“I trust you.” Regis fixed her with a stare full of everything he had. “I trust you, absolutely. But can you trust me? And tell me what’s going?” 

Fran’s eyes darted back and forth between Regis’s own. She always met his gaze like this. Head on, even now. It was one of the things Regis loved most about her. 

Finally her shoulders slumped. She clicked her teeth and stomped one foot impatiently. When she looked back at Regis she was a little bit defeated and a little bit angry. 

“If you insist.” She leaned in close to his ear. Bringing her voice down to the lightest whisper. Impossible for anyone else to hear. 

“I very badly need to use the restroom.” 

Surprise and slow realization fell upon Regis. He confusedly pointed back at the cafe. “Oh. Well…there’s a perfectly fine one back in—”

Fran shook her head. Unmovable. “No. I don’t…not in public.” 

They looked at each other. Gauging the reactions. (Honestly Regis didn’t know what to make of this. He hoped his face wasn’t showing even half the confusion he felt inside.) 

“So. You see. I must be on my way.” She pulled away from him and began walking in quite a hurry. 

The stiffness in her walk suddenly made sense, if this was all true. Regis had already agreed to trust her. He hadn’t ever known Fran to lie about anything. Besides, a woman would normally make up a different excuse—he’d never even heard a woman speak about needing to use the restroom desperately like that. So it had to be true. And in that case, it was serious. An emergency.

“Wait!” Regis caught up to her again. “What neighborhood do you live in?”

She told him. 

He reared back in surprise. “That’s quite far from here! Why don’t you come to my apartment?” If this was a cleanliness issue—that seemed accurate for Fran, some refined women hated public toilets because they found them dirty—then there would be no problem with his toilet. “I assure you it’s more than clean. And my apartment is just up the block from here.” 

Fran’s eyes softened as she thought about it. She grabbed Regis’s arm momentarily. “Alright. Take me there.” 

Nodding, Regis held her hand and led her quickly across the street. They hurried to his place at a brisk walk—a good workout in itself. Faster than Regis had moved in quite a while. He normally called a car or got driven anytime he needed to go places. No time for that now. 

When they made it inside, Regis was actually sweating. Fran thanked him breathlessly, kicking off her shoes as she eyed the interior of his apartment. 

“Straight through, to your left,” Regis explained. Giving her directions to the bathroom.

She nodded and scurried off in that direction. He heard the door close and realized she must have been telling the truth. What a silly thing! And there Regis was in the cafe, worried that something was terribly wrong. With Fran or with them. Some inevitable snag in their relationship. But no, just this! What a relief.

Regis took the time while Fran was in the bathroom to clean himself up a bit. Wash his face, put on a new shirt. He knew that this was a milestone on its own, Fran coming to his apartment. No Basch dogging their steps. 

Strange way for it to happen, but. Regis was pleased.

When Fran emerged, she seemed much calmer. Her body was back to its normal posture. Relaxed and fluid. 

“Thank you very much for this.” She lowered her gaze. Almost bashful, which was nothing like her. “I apologize for all the trouble.”

“No, not at all. I’m…glad everything worked out.” Kind of an awkward thing to say, but. Regis wasn’t the most debonair man in the world. They’d established that. “You must have high standards for cleanliness. Nothing wrong with that.”

Fran eyed him curiously. Trying to tell if he was serious. When she realized he was, she shook her head. Carefully. “It’s not about that. It’s…well…” She looked around the apartment. Her eyes alighting on different things. Absorbing all the details of this place. Taking her time to pick the right words. “You see, if someone…found out about me, then. I could be in danger.” 

Regis frowned. “Found out about you?” About what, exactly? “You mean your job?”

Fran’s gaze settled on him again. Unsmiling. “No. Not that.” 

Then…? Oh. The truth smacked Regis right in the face. Of course Fran was talking about her transition. The only thing that set her apart from other women in any regard—and yes, now that Regis thought about, he’d read of this being an issue in the papers. Regis was ashamed of his obliviousness. After all, this was a topic of public debate. Political. But the idea that all of that nonsense could touch Fran…Regis shook his head. 

Ridiculous.

He looked at Fran who was just standing there watching how he’d respond. He smiled at her—a fake smile, admittedly, since he didn’t really know what to do. When she remained unmoved, Regis approached her and gently cupped her face. 

How to tell her that he understood? That he wished she didn’t have to deal with it? That he didn’t see how anyone would ever find out about her because in a way there was nothing to find. A woman being a woman, out in public. Nothing to put on the news.

But of course, Regis knew all these thoughts were naive. Things weren’t so simple.

He kissed her forehead, willing away the tension in the room. “Well. Anyway. If you ever…need anything in the future, please tell me first.” He smiled at her again. This one was more genuine. “We’ll figure it out. Whatever it is, alright?” 

There wasn’t anything specific in that offer. Regis didn’t want there to be. He wanted Fran to come to him with anything. Any problem, any bit of discomfort. He’d do his best to make it better. He had all the money in the world at his fingertips. As well as a wide open heart to lay at her feet. If either of those things made a difference. 

Fran’s face smoothed out. The lines of worry disappearing. She turned her face into Regis’s palm, relishing his attention. Regis loved when she did that. Then, she leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. She rocked back on her feet, considering, before she swiftly crashed her mouth against his. That kiss was anything but soft.

Regis wrapped his arms around her waist. He could sense the heat rising in her. It made him weak in the knees. Oh, yes, that was his absolute favorite thing in the world. The knowledge—the _feeling_ , how she writhed in his arms—when Fran got excited. Regis only ever caught glimpses of this; Fran rarely showed any obvious signs that she enjoyed their sex. She normally just moved her body against Regis’s, bringing him to climax with ease and then happily cuddling him afterwards. At this point in their relationship, Fran still only made love to him with her back turned. He asked her several times to face him, but Fran just shook her head.

The things she liked: Having her nipples played with. Sucked hard. Licked. Touches to her inner thighs. Soft kisses on the back of her neck, nibbles on her throat. Fingers in her ass (at least she’d begun to let Regis do that much!), curled or scissored. When he did any of these things, Regis could see the heat in her. Short waves of pleasure rippling across her body. Tightened muscles. Harsh gasps. But those reactions were brief. Cut short. Maybe by force, maybe not. Regis couldn’t tell. Either way, he was greedy for any sign of excitement in her. Viciously greedy. 

In that moment, with Fran kissing him like she wanted to, as if kissing him felt good, Regis rejoiced. He dissolved in pleasure, cock rising to the occasion, and kissed her back. 

He wished he could carry her bridal style into the bedroom. To lay her down and make sweet love to her until she cried out his name. But of course, no. Neither of them could really manage that. They walked into the bedroom hand in hand laying down on the bed together (Regis pushed away any taunts about geriatric lovemaking, damn it damn it damn it). 

Fran just smiled. Unbothered by the slowness of it all. Regis’s slowness. 

She rolled on top of him, straddling his waist. Her favorite position. Right on top of him. Regis grinned, licking his lips in hunger. She could stay there as long as she liked. Looking so queenly upon him. 

They stripped each other with familiar ease. Regis always made sure to undress her only down to her panties. Respectful of the boundaries. But this time, Fran turned around with her jeans still on, shimmying out of them to reveal a dark red thong with a little bow on top of the g-string. That thong made her ass look like a little present. 

Regis salivated at the sight. “Oh, that’s lovely,” he groaned, fiddling with the bow. Fran hummed in appreciation, glancing at him over her shoulder. 

It was sweet. Thoughtful. Fran knew how much he loved her ass so she’d taken the time to put on something that would entice him (not that he needed any more enticing, but still). 

Even so…

Something about this felt kind of cold. Their sex—back to front—was amazing, but sometimes it felt like the scraps from the dinner table. Regis was a greedy dog. Sometimes he wanted more of a meal. 

He reached into the night table drawer and pulled out his trusty bottle of lube. Finally, this lube was seeing some action beyond his own…soliloquies. (No need to mention any of that to this charming woman, though!) Fran watched as he poured some on his fingers. 

“May I?” To clarify, he held up his dripping fingers.

She turned around, bending over at the waist. “Yes. Go ahead.”

Regis stroked her entrance for a few heartbeats, letting her get used to the feeling. Touching her like this, spreading her crevice to trace a path to that glorious center…Regis’s cock was full to bursting. All the things he wanted to do her, to make her feel…and yet it was so hard to hold back.

He entered her. One finger at a time. Slowly. Stretching, reaching in to the deeper parts of her before pulling back to tease the shallow parts. The rim where he imagined she liked to be licked, though they’d never tried that (Regis couldn’t bend that far when she was in his lap, and that was their position 90% of the time). He listened to her breathing. Small, high-pitched moans. He was moving slower than normal today.

Fran noticed. She tightened visibly around his fingers when he swirled them around the hot little nub right inside her—she whipped her head around to face him, moving her legs in a way that ruined the angle of access. 

“Are you ready yet?” she demanded. Her voice was rough around the edges. Husky. 

Regis pulled his fingers out. Getting the message; that was too much for her right now. Even though his fingers itched to be back inside her. In that warm, sensitive place. A place where Fran got her pleasure. Tight and sweet… He would try his best to happy with the minimalist approach…

Although…

“Won’t you face me tonight?” Regis had to ask. His voice was faint. Beseeching. Almost begging. He wanted it so badly. To look at her—to know what expressions she made when they were together. How her face changed, if it changed. To watch her breasts bounce, untethered, as she rode him. 

Fran let out a puff of breath and turned away. She didn’t say anything for a moment, but she didn’t give a sign of no either. 

“…Please?” Yes, Regis was actually begging now. It would be worth it!

She glanced down at him. An aura of alertness radiated from her every feature. Yes, alertness but also weariness. As if she’d grown tired of keeping this distance between them. 

“It’s alright,” he went on. “I just want to see you.” 

“Regis, do you understand…?” Fran was watching him. As ever. Unflinchingly.

“Yes, I do.” He sat up a little straighter. “It’s fine. I just want to see your beautiful face when we make love. You’re so beautiful, Fran. I can’t help wanting it…” 

“My face?” Fran twisted off his lap onto her knees. Waiting. Giving him her profile. “But, Regis…”

He’d never stop reacting to the way she said his name. Prolonging the final ’s’ just a bit, that habit she had. 

“If I get excited then…you’ll see.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“I know,” Regis said immediately. Of course he knew that much. “It’s fine.” 

He didn’t care. Most women got wet when they were excited. In his dreams, Fran was very wet. Wetting his pant legs when she sat on his lap, wetting the passenger seat of his car. Wet around his dick when he fucked her. He was subconsciously obsessed with the idea of her wetness because that’s how he knew to read a woman’s excitement. 

With Fran, in reality, it would be different. Hardness, he supposed. But what did that matter? Wet or hard, Regis just wanted to see Fran’s arousal. He was sure it would be beautiful. 

Fran put her hand on Regis’s bare chest. She was still watching him, but from underneath her eyelashes. “In these panties, because of the bottom I can’t tuck so…I’m already a bit…you can see.” 

Regis frowned. “Tuck?”

A small nod. “Normally I fold and put a little piece of tape. But that doesn’t work with these panties because the g-string goes a bit further, so…” 

Why had it never occurred to him that Fran had some way to conceal herself? She wore tight dresses, after all. Short shorts. Leggings. She needed some coverage. …But Regis couldn’t help imagining what it would feel like to have a piece of tape on his dick all day. Probably uncomfortable as hell. Not that Fran ever complained or even seemed to mind. Nothing hurt her confidence, that swagger she had.

Either way, that didn’t change anything. “Like I said, it’s fine.” He reached up, combing some of her luscious hair away from her face. “If you’ll allow it then…I’d love to see you.”

She bit her lip in thought. Then, with a slow, steady breath (undoubtedly something she’d learned in yoga), Fran pressed her face into Regis’s hand. A sign of acquiescence. 

“Alright.” 

Keeping her eyes fixed on him, Fran turned. She stayed on her knees at first. Feeling the moment. It was silent. Still. Regis honestly didn’t even look at her panties (although he sorely wanted to). He kept his eyes on her face. Watching her watching him. Smiling softly. His hand still cupping her cheek. 

This wasn’t about wetness or hardness, not really. It was about seeing each other.

When nothing earth-shattering happened, Fran calmly straddled Regis’s lap again. This time, facing him. 

A dream come true. He brushed some stray hairs off her chest, taking in the sight of her. An athlete’s lithe body. Breasts with nipples pointing straight out. Curves, so many curves. The curve of her cheek, her shoulders, her bosom, her waist…

Regis lowered his gaze evenly. Letting her see where he was looking. 

Yes, there was an obvious bulge there. Long and slender. Heavy underneath the fabric of her red panties. He blinked for a moment, taking in the sight (the size, mostly). But really…he thought…

He fit his hands over her breasts. Rubbing gently, thumbing her nipples with light strokes. Just the way she liked. 

“Nnnh…” Fran swayed on top of him. Her eyes fluttering closed.

In that place, Regis saw her twitch. A little jolt beneath her panties. Subtle, but obvious to him because he was looking for every tell. 

Her body was responding to his touch. He trapped her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, rolling them. Testing the waters. 

“Ah…!” Fran’s hips shook—minutely, but oh god yes. She shook her hips like she was looking for something. Some kind of contact.

Sweet fucking hell, that turned Regis on. He grunted in his throat (why hadn’t he figured out a way to turn that into a sexy moan or something? But nope, his body wanted to grunt like an animal), guiding her hips to his cock. She must be able to feel how ridiculously swollen he was right now. Throbbing. 

“Shall we?” Fran offered, reaching behind herself to slide Regis’s manhood into her entrance. 

“Yes…!” Heat in that area—after so long waiting—made Regis’s mind go blank. His head thrashed against the pillow and he used every ounce of willpower not to slam his cock into her hard. 

He wanted to fuck her. Making love was all well and good, but right now, staring at the budding arousal between her legs, the only thing Regis wanted was to fuck. He couldn’t get enough of her, and here with their eyes locked—where _she_ could see—where he was exposed just as much as she was—

“Do you want to go fast?” Fran asked, bending down over him, forcing him deeper inside.

“Yesss..oh god, Fran, yes I do…!” 

Regis was gripping her hips too hard, wasn’t he? He tried to let up, but it was too good! He needed her there, _right there!_ Right on his dick, right where she wanted him. Where she liked…! 

“Do it.” 

It was a command, low and rough. Regis didn’t need to be told twice. He bucked up into her, slamming her hips down to meet him on every thrust. He was grunting and sweating. This wasn’t exactly how he’d planned it, but…he was lost to the drive to take her. To please her. To give her whatever he could—

“Ah! Ah ah ah!” Fran yelped every time he went deep. This was probably the deepest he’d ever fucked her. The angle wasn’t even right for it, but she was moving her body in time. Leaning into the movements. _Letting_ him take her again and again. 

Regis stole a glance at her arousal again. Unflagging, it swayed with his rhythm. That turned Regus on too somehow. Her hardness grew ever larger, stretching the limits of her panties until he was sure they would snap (shame, they were a nice pair, but it would be so glorious to see). If he turned his head in either direction, Regis would have a clear view inside. His instincts told him to do it—he wanted to see this woman’s lust laid bare, no more barriers—but he knew not to. They hadn’t agreed to that. Just this.

One step at a time. 

As it was, Regis didn’t think he could last much longer. Watching Fran’s face squeeze into a wince as he fucked her was more than enough. Added on top of that, Regis could stare at her breasts. They thundered up and down. Sensual and wild…so perfect! 

And then, more fuel to the fire, Regis spotted a drop of wetness pooling in the front of Fran’s panties. It slid down, leaving a trail of damp fabric in its wake. 

He wanted to bury his face against the wetness. To smell and taste and drink it all down—

But instead he came. A too-soon rush of orgasm, a pushing sensation behind his eyeballs and a need to hold—to hold himself in position as he released. Latching onto Fran with all his strength. 

He collapsed when it was done. Fran was panting on top of him. He could tell she had not reached her own climax, just that she was excited enough for some pre-cum to slip out. That knowledge was painfully arousing to him, but also disappointing because he wanted to see her when she came—

With a breath, Fran slid off him. She retreated quickly to the adjoining bathroom to clean herself up. Regis wanted to tell her to wait, to let him take care of her, but it all happened so fast. She shut the door behind her. When she came back, she was wearing his bathrobe. It was tied tight around the waist and Regis couldn’t see anything. 

“Come here,” Regis beckoned. Fran had her guard up, he could see that.

Still, the sex was over. All of that aside, they both still wanted to cuddle. The part of the night where they laid in each other’s arms was the most important, wasn’t it?

Saying nothing, Fran joined him on the bed. The fabric of the robe was soft against Regis’s face as he held her. And she was so warm and fragile…like a little rabbit…

Of course he would never say any of that out loud. He didn’t want to face her inevitable wrath at being called such a thing.

_______________________________________________

After that night, Regis made sure to find a cafe that was reasonably close to either his neighborhood or Fran’s. For comfort’s sake. He also looked for places with a unisex bathroom, but that wasn’t a commonly advertised feature. Frustratingly so! Regis thought that if he were to campaign again he might propose an article to restaurant regulations such that restaurants needed to describe their bathroom amenities as part of their listing…it would make life easier for people…but then, there was hardly a chance Regis would run for office again. 

They had sex at Regis’s place many more times as well—and now, every time Regis asked Fran to face him she did. Sometimes he didn’t even have to ask. She kept their eyes locked as they fucked. Not an ounce of hesitation. Just wild passion and heat. The most beautiful thing in the world. 

Thankfully Basch had exited the picture. Regis didn’t even want to bring him up. They dispensed with the awkwardness of money. Regis deposited $10,000 in Fran’s payable account every month. He told her one evening that he would be doing it—she froze like a deer in the headlights, shocked at the amount—and then they never spoke about it again. He didn’t want to have to sort through bills just to be with her, though of course he wanted her to have enough money to live. To buy herself nice things as well as essential things. 

If she ever needed more, Regis told her she could always ask. 

As a result, Fran announced one afternoon—casual as anything—that she had stopped taking shifts at Perfect Harmony. She asked Mother not to put her on the schedule and Mother agreed. 

“I haven’t resigned,” Fran said sternly. “Just taking some leave.” 

Regis crazily thought for a moment that Fran was taking medical leave. “Everything alright?” he asked, already considering how much money she might need for medical bills.

Fran chuckled. Smiling brilliantly. “Yes. Of course. It’s that I’ve…found another interest.” 

The way her eyes sparkled, Regis knew she was talking about him. About their relationship. Warmth broke across his chest. He was suddenly smiling so hard his wrinkled cheeks actually hurt. 

“I hope it pays well enough,” he said. Surprising himself with that bit of humor.

Fran choked out an actual laugh. Pressing a hand to her mouth, not used to laughing so hard, she said, “Yes. Well enough, I suppose.” 

Regis was happy with their arrangement. He wanted her all to himself (the thought of her touching other men in that underground parlor made his guts twist into knots and his teeth clench so hard it made his ears ring). But rationally he knew she needed to make a living. He’d been to her apartment before, when she was using the bathroom one night. Her neighborhood was decidedly working class. This surprised him a bit considering she must have been paid well at Perfect Harmony. Did Mother Theresa take too much of a cut? But the girls seemed so loyal to her…at any rate, hopefully Fran would be able to afford something a little nicer with Regis’s payments keeping her afloat. 

Fran rented nothing more than a small one bedroom apartment. Drab, without many amenities. A walk-up. But she had room enough for one oversized tabby cat named Balthier—a creature Fran doted on with wordless but incorrigible love. 

“You might be overfeeding him…” Regis pointed out one night as Fran scooped yet another dollop of wet food into Balthier’s bowl.

Fran shrugged. “He likes it. And he’s always looking for treats. Scavenging for food like its treasure. It’s easier if I just give it to him.”

To be fair, Fran had him on a healthy meat-based diet. No corn, no gluten. She was particular about his care. He was sort of disabled, though. He only had one eye.

“He thinks he’s a pirate,” Fran said lovingly, scooping him into her lap. 

Balthier sprawled across her legs with far too much comfort. He gazed up at Regis, wearing a self-satisfied expression. Smug, even. Like he’d won something. He purred luxuriously when Fran petted him. Defiant in his ability to monopolize her attention.

Regis frowned. Was he in some kind of weird competition with this cat…? A contest for Fran’s affection? 

No that was just ridiculous. Besides, Balthier eventually warmed up to Regis. When he and Fran were sitting watching television some nights, Balthier would jump on Regis’s lap and purr to an obscene amount. Mandating pets from the old man. 

Regis got used to it. 

They got used to everything, especially each other’s company. Leisurely company. Regis felt relaxed when they were together and it lasted even after they parted as well. Fran energized him. His heart swelled with so much pride when she held onto his elbow as they walked through the city streets. It made him happy. 

When that happiness became a normal thing, it sort of…stuck. He carried the feeling of joy around with him now. All the time. He didn’t feel exhausted going through the day’s work, his job. Instead the work just seemed temporary. A placeholder until he could go out for the evening with Fran. 

She energized him. Over time, Regis’s health improved. In part because of his mental state and also because Fran found ways of convincing Regis to make healthier choices. Better diet; before Fran came into his life, Regis scowled at all things green and leafy—much like Noctis. But with her steady encouragement he was downing things like kale smoothies and salads. More activity—their walks. At least one night of exercise a week in the form of yoga or time on the elliptical machine in Fran’s local gym. Less stress. He didn’t work nearly as much now that he needed to make time for Fran. Somehow Regis had become a guy who looked at his watch when he worked—not to make sure he was meeting deadlines but to make sure he wasn’t working too late.

His life changed dramatically. 

___________________________________________

Regis made sure to reschedule an afternoon with Noctis. He even called his son on the phone just to do it—the phone was usually reserved for emergencies or when there were cameras around. (He tried to ignore the way Noctis answered the phone sounding mildly terrified.) 

Talking about Noctis with Fran so much made Regis nostalgic for the times when they were closer. He’d already known—ever since his breakdown—that he wanted to spend more time with Noctis, but his fear about how painful and awkward it would be always held him back. It got easier when Regis remembered a young boy who always wanted two hugs and two kisses exactly from both his parents before he went to bed. It was a sort of ritual (a warning sign from the beginning, Regis should have noticed), but it was also cute. He remembered planting kisses on a wriggling child who kept saying, “One more! One more!” 

Noctis was still that boy, in a way, Regis told himself. Well, alright. He wasn’t. Not at all. But! Regis had enjoyed being a father to that boy. Maybe now he could learn how to be a father to the man Noctis had become. 

They started with lunch. As Regis anticipated, Noctis was a wonderful chef. He’d picked up things from Ardyn and Ignis, and now he know how to make all kinds of things. When Regis sat down at his son’s kitchen table, he was delighted to see a refrigerator full of ingredients. Noctis offered him a selection of things he could make. Sandwiches, grilled chicken, spaghetti.

“How nice,” Regis commented, happy to be served a sandwich with lettuce and tomato, and a matching one for Noctis. Vegetables and everything.

Maybe they were both growing up.

“So. How’s work?” Regis asked, talking a bite of his food. Granted, he still wasn’t amazing at having conversations, but he’d learned a thing or too about safe topics. Things people could always talk about even when there were walls of emotions between them. 

“Oh, you know,” Noctis said. “Pretty good actually. Normal. One of the cats we’ve been seeing for years finally had kittens. I’ve been trying to find homes for them all, so that’s been a project.”

Regis paused a moment. He realized he knew nothing about Noctis’s job. “How do you find homes for kittens?” He honestly had no idea.

“Well…” Noctis glanced at him warily and then launched into a long explanation of everything he was trying to do for the cats. It sounded surprisingly exhausting. 

“I see. And how’s Ardyn?” Regis felt comfortable asking about this now. He had begrudging respect for the man. Everything with Perfect Harmony, the aftermath. Ardyn was a good man, regardless of his past. Regis had no contention with that point. 

“He’s good,” Noctis leaned back in his chair, stretching after finishing his meal. “Still working on that second book.” 

Yes, yes. The book. All that. 

“How’s your…girlfriend?” Noctis asked, trying not to tiptoe around the subject but failing and making it awkward anyway. 

Regis wet his lips. “She’s doing well.” 

Noctis waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. Regis hadn’t meant to leave Noctis floundering around for something more to say, but that’s what happened. “Oh okay. So that’s…good. Are you guys…?” 

Another painful pause. Regis needed to bear this…he looked at his son, trying to remember the boy he’d loved so much. But here was Noctis, with a face that looked more like Regis’s own every day. A man with a life he’d built for himself. 

The fact that Noctis had a life as stable as he did made Regis’s heart want to burst with pride. He let himself feel that pride, not shying away from the intensity of it as he normally did. Emotions ran through him now. That was okay. He’d learned how to ride the waves a bit better. Instead of stuffing these things down. (Yoga and cockamamie shit like that…well, god damn it actually helped. Feeling was easier now.) 

“We’re…in good standing, I believe,” Regis finished for him. “We have an arrangement and I think it works for both of us.” 

“An arrangement?” Noctis raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes.” Regis explained what he did for Fran. The payments and such. 

“Wow, $10,000 a month. That’s pretty steep.” Noctis cupped his glass of water. “You must be serious about her, Dad.” 

That word. What was his son referring to? Regis fought the urge to purse his lips. “Serious? What do you mean?” 

“Nothing, I just…” Noctis shrugged. “I mean…it’s no big deal and I don’t care anymore, but…” He glanced at his father. “Well, back then, you and Ignis gave me shit for spending $15,000 on Ardyn and that was over like three or four months I think.” 

Ouch. A cutting blow. Regis straightened his shoulders. He needed to ride this out. “Yes, well. I, that is we, may have…overreacted. I apologize for that, Noctis.” 

No fucking shit they’d overreacted. In the end, when it all came out, nothing drastic happened at all. The only obstacle they’d had to face was Regis’s stubbornness and unwillingness to accept the facts as they were. The supposed pushback from the public he’d expected never came. That was a thorn in Regis’s side, no matter how counterintuitive that may have sounded. It showed Regis for what he really was. A coward, a hypocrite, and a fool. 

Noctis’s shoulders went stiff. “Umm, it’s okay…”

“No, I know it’s not okay.” Regis glared at his empty plate. Well, he guessed there were here now. Having this conversation. “I had no business…passing judgement on you like that. I see now what Ardyn is to you. So that was…wrong of me.” 

There! Regis finally got it out. Saying those words was actually a burden lifted from his shoulders. It felt surprisingly good. 

Every joint in Noctis’s body froze in place. Rigid. Tight as piano wire. Ready to snap. “Umm…I…like I mean, it’s…” Noctis fiddled with his fingers underneath the table. A very old habit. He’d done that a lot in high school when things weren’t going well. “It’s okay. _Now_. Like, back then, it was rough? But now I mean, it’s fine.” 

As much as it pained him to hear that, Regis nodded. 

“What’s her name?” 

Regis’s eyes flicked back to his son. Fascinated that Noctis could change the topic so quickly, and relieved that his son didn’t want to linger here. 

“Her name is Fran,” Regis explained. “She’s young. Probably close to your age.” Shit, why had he said that out loud? Maybe there was a level of guilt around that too Regis needed to get off his chest?

“Wow.” Noctis visibly swallowed. 

“But she’s…well, she’s very…” Regis thought about how to describe Fran. Sophisticated? Worldly? Quiet? Calm? Healthy? Old in spirit? Perfect in every way? 

He squinted. There was too much to say and nothing felt right in his head. 

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Noctis waved it away with one hand. “I want to meet her. …I can meet her, right?” 

Naturally Regis had considered this before. His son and his love meeting for the first time. Ardyn already met Fran. They’d had some type of conversation in Perfect Harmony while Regis was…collecting himself after that first time. They seemed to hit it off. But Noctis?

Oh, that meeting would be awkward as the day was long. The knowledge in both their heads that Fran had not only given Regis a happy ending but that she was actively his girlfriend now. He prayed that Noctis wouldn’t think too hard on the subject—not like what Regis contemplated about Noctis and Ardyn. He didn’t want those images in his son’s head! Even though…yeah, they were probably already there. 

Still. Regis wanted Noctis to meet Fran. He wanted her to see his son, one of the most important people in his life (if not the single most important, honestly). And he wanted Noctis to know who Fran was. Since she was also very, very important to him. He wanted Noctis to accept her on some level. Fuck, he didn’t know why. He just…did. 

“Yes, you can. In fact I’d like you to.” Regis tried to offer him a smile but it was too contrived to have the desired effect. 

Pitying his father, Noctis smiled back. “Great. Well then, I’m looking forward to it.” He thought for a second. “You could invite her to Aranea’s baby shower if you want. It’s next week.”

Oh right, the shower! Had Regis gotten a gift? Damn, he’d forgotten! The registry would be bought out by now! Ah well. At least he still had a few days to drum something up. 

“It should be nice. Prompto’s gone all out on this one.” Undoubtedly. “And I’m sure everyone would like to meet Fran. Since…you know…”

“Since what?” Regis could not help being defensive.

“Nothing!” Too quick of a reply. Noctis sighed, resigning himself to explain. “It’s just that…well, you’ve changed a lot, Dad. Recently. Ever since Fran and everything.” 

‘And everything.’ What lovely subterfuge. Alright so Noctis didn’t excel in that area…

“You smile more,” Noctis pointed out. “You go out. You don’t work as much. Everything about you seems…I don’t know. Brighter or something. You haven’t been wearing as much black as you usually do, either. Maybe that’s it.” 

Perhaps. But Regis was just being practical with that last thing. What young woman wanted to date a widower who wore black all the time?

“What I’m saying is, it’s obvious that Fran has helped you out a lot. And I think everyone would like to get to know her just for that.” Noctis glanced away. “…Maybe also to say thanks. For taking care of you and all that.” 

Ah. There he was. The sweet boy from the past. Regis knew he’d find him…oh, Noctis had never lost his spirit. The piece of him that always wanted to make friends (no matter how bad he was at it). The child longing for nothing more than hugs and kisses and goodnight stories.

Regis clutched his chest he was so overcome with love for his son. A charming, kind young man. Noctis was really the best thing that had ever come out of Regis’s life. There was no question about that! Not when Regis looked at him and saw a vision of someone who forgave and loved without remorse, without contingency. 

“Noct…” Regis was all choked up. He cleared his throat. He needed to say this, goddamn it! How many years these words had lingered on his tongue, unsaid? 

Noctis looked at him. Waiting for something to happen.

“Noct, I’m so proud of you.” The truth. Once Regis started, he couldn’t stop. “Really. I hope you know that I am. That I’ve always been, even when we weren’t on the best terms.” 

Redness rose to Noctis’s cheeks. To his nose. A telltale sign of what was about to happen. A tsunami of buried feelings. Regis braced for impact and kept going.

“I know things haven’t been easy for you.” That was an understatement considering Noctis’s hardships, but. Regis was still conceding a lot. “And I know that I’ve…not been the supportive father that maybe you needed sometimes.” 

Regis looked down at his hands. Ah that painful truth. 

“But…in spite of all that, you’ve become a wonderful man, Noctis. Outside of my influence. You’ve chosen a commendable life for yourself, managed to get healthy and find a good partner…” Regis could go on and on but he really shouldn’t. Not all at once. Not here on this afternoon at the kitchen table. “I can’t ask anything more of you, son. You’ve accomplished so much and…well. I’m very proud of you.” 

Ironically, the only thing that met Regis’s words was silence. He knew he’d have to look at Noctis eventually…so, he took a deep breath and faced his son.

Tears had gathered in Noctis’s eyes. His nose was beat red. When their eyes met, Noctis choked on a kind of heaving gurgle—a mix between a laugh and a sob. 

Regis wished he could reach across the table and hug him. He didn’t want to see Noctis cry anymore.

“Dad…do…” Noctis angrily brushed the tears away as they fell. “Do you really mean that…like…now? After everything…? Out of nowhere…?” 

“Yes, I mean it, Noct.” A husk of useless guilt lodged itself in Regis’s throat. “I know it may feel like it’s sudden, but…it’s not.”

He got to his feet. The chair scraping against the floor startled them both. By the time he walked around to meet his son, Noctis was already babbling with tears. 

“I love you very much, Noct. That’s the honest truth.” Regis put both hands on his son’s shoulders. “Even when I was…angry, or distant, or whatever. You’re still my son.” A helpless smile graced his lips. “I love you. And I’m proud of you.” 

Not the most graceful confession in the world. But between them? It was an earthquake. 

Crying hard—inconsolable, the way he had when he was little and Aulea just died—Noctis leaned forward. Pressing his face into Regis’s chest. Using a reflex he didn’t even know he had, Regis wrapped his arms around him. Squeezing Noctis tighter. Cradling him. As if this could stop his tears. Make up for the wounds of the past. Or even just show Noctis how much Regis meant what he said.

When Regis felt the wetness of Noctis’s tears against his shirt, he was devastated. Somehow that made everything real. A few tears of his own trickled down his cheeks, catching in his beard. He was quick to wipe them away before Noctis could see. 

He didn’t want to cry in front of his son. 

After a few minutes of just holding Noctis, waiting for it to end, Regis stroked the back of his head. This was messy business. (No wonder he’d relied on Aulea for so much. All this messy stuff.) But it was also necessary. 

“Come on,” Regis looked into Noctis’s bloodshot eyes and pretended his heart wasn’t breaking. “That’s enough now. It’s…alright. Well…” 

Noctis sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. His hands were shaking, Regis noticed. “Yeah, yeah.” Noctis let out a breath, pretending he was over this. Forcing himself to stop crying.

“It’s just been a while that I’ve been wanting to hear that from you,” Noctis explained.

“I know.” 

They inched backwards a little, into more comfortable territory. Noctis all messy and broken with Regis standing there staring. Only this time, Regis was at least trying to help. Although he had no idea what to do.

He hugged Noctis again. It was his only move. He didn’t have anything left to say. 

When they said goodbye that day, Regis was swallowing a huge wave of pain. He hadn’t cried and or broken down, but he’d…he’d caused all that suffering. Not just today but for years and years. He knew that, obviously, but. It was all hitting him in that moment. 

Later that night, in Fran’s apartment, he wept in her arms. True, painful weeping. Wracking sobs. Tears and snot mixing on Fran’s sweater while her long arms enveloped him. 

“I failed him,” Regis cried. “Fran, I failed him.” 

“Hush…” Fran pushed soaked strands of grey hair out of his face. She was looking at him with a serious but soft expression. Reflecting his pain. Keeping him grounded while he went through it.

The pain felt mostly like grief. Grief for the family they’d once been, for all the missed opportunities. For the lost time. For the relationship Regis could have had with Noctis, if only he’d known how to be a better father. For himself. For the years he wasted trying not to feel anything, until his body rebelled. There was also anger and frustration inside him, but mostly, it was grief.

“No it’s true.” Regis didn’t even recognize his own voice. He hadn’t cried like this in years. And never in front of anyone. Fran was the only person who’d ever seen him like this. “I failed Noctis. I wasn’t there for him when he needed me. I failed my son…” 

“Regis…” Fran huffed and forced him to look her in the eye. She thumbed away his tears, ignoring the new ones that fell. “Hear this. You can’t change the past. It’s impossible. We can never go back and fix things…” 

Something flashed behind her eyes. As if she knew that feeling all too well.

“The only thing you can do is move forward.” She cupped his cheek gently. “On the right path this time.” 

Regis closed his eyes, absorbing her words. She was right, of course. He couldn’t go back in time. But. He could move forward. He had to! They all did. Life went on no matter what. Fortunately, they did have a say in the future. 

Making things right with Noctis. It wouldn’t be easy, it might not even be possible. Still, Regis would try to do better. Say what he felt more, try not to give the appearance of judgement. (Oh it would be hard.) 

In the end, that was the only option. To move forward and do better. He had more in his favor this time around. Specifically, he had Fran. He could do better when he had her support. Her calming presence. Her arms to hold him at night.

He could do better. And he would. For Noctis.

___________________________________________________ 

Regis proposed the idea of the baby shower to Fran shortly after. He had made up his mind to buy Ignis and Aranea a nice sturdy rocking chair. Cushioned and oak, with a lifetime warrantee on free upholstering. He didn’t know if they already had a rocking chair—probably they did—but Regis knew more than anyone how essential a rocking chair was for a baby in the first year or two. With Noctis, the only way his newborn son would ever get to sleep was with near constant coddling and rocking. Regis and Aulea used to take turns rocking him—some nights that was a full-time job. 

Those sleepless first months. First years, really. Well, early childhood. Or all of childhood…and high school was its own nightmare…those gut wrenching young adult years. Regis thought back to his last few nights of uneasy sleep thinking about how he could improve his relationship with adult Noctis.

Ah yes. Being a parent meant permanently giving up sleep for the rest of your life. Regis sighed. Ignis and Aranea would need all the help they could get. So, Regis bit the bullet and bought the most expensive rocking chair out there. It wasn’t a magic fix and it wasn’t a gateway to good parenting—Ignis and Aranea would have to figure that out on their own, good luck!—but it was a fair start.

“An employee of mine is having a small get together this weekend,” Regis told Fran over dinner. “Well, I say employee, but…he’s more of a family friend. Very close to Noctis.” 

“Mmm.” Fran seemed distracted as she chomped on her salad. This woman, forever eating salads. 

“You’re more than welcome to come, if you like. It won’t be too many people. Should be a nice afternoon.” 

This was a big step for them. Branching out and meeting each other’s families. Fran didn’t even talk about her own family let alone suggest introductions. For Regis to be doing this…the significance was clear. 

Fran laid down her fork. She eyed Regis carefully. “Hmm. I see.” 

A noncommittal response. Regis had expected as much. “It’s a baby shower. Ignis, my employee, and his wife are expecting. So, you can imagine the kind of conversation and the gifts…” He wouldn’t force Fran if she didn’t want to go, but! He still hoped she would. “…You don’t have to get a gift if you don’t want, I’ve purchased something we can give together—”

“Is she due soon?” Fran asked. Her ears perked up right away. As soon as Regis said the word ‘baby.’

…Ah. 

“I believe so yes.” Regis thought about what to do with this information: Fran, for all her composure, had a soft spot for babies. Obviously. “They’re expecting a girl.” 

“Their first child?” Fran had forgotten her dinner. She was suddenly intent on learning all she could about Aranea’s baby. 

“Yes.” 

There, that little tilt of her head. Regis found it so adorable! Fran did that when she was thinking, or when she had new information to consider. He wondered if she even knew. 

Without explaining, Fran got up to check the living room cabinet. She opened a drawer, clearly looking for something, then promptly came back to the table. Hands empty.

“I’ll go,” she announced. Composed. Decided. “And I can bring my own gift. I already have something I can make.”

Make? A DIY gift? Well, those were all the rage these days. Regis was honestly impressed. And quite satisfied.

“That’s wonderful.” He smiled at her. “Noctis will be there. As well as Ardyn, his…” Regis inevitably faltered here. “…boyfriend.” Not a painful as he thought it would be. “And some of our other close friends.” 

Fran nodded slowly in understanding. “I’ll look forward to meeting them all, then.” She didn’t seem intimidated—not in the slightest—but she wasn’t showing any obvious excitement either.

Fran wasn’t a people person. Not really. She could tolerate people and she had a very warm, generous soul. But she did not seek out connections with anyone. Friendships and things like that were always on the periphery for her.

Regis was rather the same. He had a select few friends. They exhausted him well enough. He didn’t need anyone else. 

This commonality made their lives a little easier. No need to perform around each other, or anyone else.

The shower was held at a catering hall in one of the outer boroughs. Close to where Aranea used to live, before she moved in with Ignis. Regis hadn’t seen Ignis’s apartment in a long time, but if he were to see it now it would make him smile. All the brand new baby fixtures, the furniture. Ignis must have his place arranged to the best, safest recommendations. Everything exact, perfectly prepared for their new addition. It made Regis want to chuckle. (As soon as that baby was born, the apartment would be turned on its head anyway, but. There was a certain feeling of security in preparation.) 

Fran and Regis dressed lightly professional. Fran wore a knee-length pencil skirt and a dark green blouse. Modest, but not boring. Everything she wore insisted on clinging to her in the most flattering ways…Regis thought she looked spectacular. Regis just wore a loose buttoned down shirt and slacks. Not black. Pale pink with grey pants. He thought it seemed wrong to wear too much black to a baby shower. Not that he had any business wearing a peachy salmon color…but…

Well. Here they were. 

Regis took Fran’s hand before they went into the catering hall. She was wearing stilettos, of course, and he insisted on helping her over every slight obstacle. Out from the car, over the curb, through the door. Bit excessive. But…there was a tight feeling of insecurity in his chest.

Would they think him a fool, chasing after a much younger woman like this? Would they think this a sham, nothing more than an arrangement (nothing involving feelings, the inklings of which had just begun to settle between them)? Would they care? Would they think the knew everything even though they knew nothing…? 

Regis still very much cared what people thought of him. Here was a situation where he really didn’t have much control over how he was viewed. Him and Fran, together…they looked like themselves. No changing that! And the details…were the details. There were damning bits of information in the story behind their meeting…and they could not alter any of that either.

But it didn’t make what they had with each other any less real. Any less special. Whatever happened, Regis couldn’t be shaken from that belief. No matter what kind of judgement he got, he would always love being with Fran. 

Let that be the most obvious thing about them. 

Regis turned to her. “Ready?” he asked softly.

Fran shook her hair down her back. She smiled at him. A reassuring, unselfconscious smile. “Yes.” 

She was, as always, unflappable. He took her hand and kissed it. Where did all this confidence come from? Regis could only hope to be as brave as she was one day.

“Welcome!” 

“Ah, Dad! You made it!” 

There were about fifteen people altogether at the shower, not including Regis and Fran. Aranea sat in a high backed wicker chair next to a table full of wrapped gifts. She was eight months pregnant and…well, huge. Her arms and face were the same size as always, but the rest of her? Her stomach looked big enough to hold a basketball comfortably. And her legs and feet were swollen as well. Water weight, Regis surmised. She had probably bloated in the last trimester—same as Aulea. A miserable experience. Ignis stood by her side, ever at the ready. He was as stiff as always, but…Regis thought he detected a bit of levity in the man. An easy smile at his lips. A certain bounce in his step. 

All of which vanished when he laid eyes on Regis.

“Mr. Caelum, sir. Thank you so much for coming!” Ignis bowed politely at him and went over to shake his hand. This was the Ignis he knew. A firm handshake and calculating eyes. Busy mind at work behind his glasses.

Hadn’t he been expecting Regis to come? He invited him, didn’t he?

“Of course, Ignis,” Regis replied, patting the man on the shoulder to relieve the tension. Ignis tensed immediately. So that backfired. “This is a rather important day, isn’t it?” (Truthfully, he would have forgotten if Noctis hadn’t reminded. But Ignis didn’t need to know that. Besides, it was an important day. Their first child!) 

“Hey, Dad.” Noctis scurried to Ignis’s side. He didn’t move in to give Regis a hug; they weren’t like that. But he did give his father a nice smile. That alone was rare and genuinely unexpected.

Of course, in a moment, all eyes were on Fran. Noctis’s eyes nearly fell out of his face when he saw her. He looked her up and down about five times—almost to the point where it was rude. He also seemed to be at a complete loss for words. 

“I’m sorry…” Ignis held out his hand to Fran. “I don’t believe I know your name.” 

Blinking calmly, Fran placed her hand inside Ignis’s. Not a handshake. Just a touch of hands. Delicate and sort of distant (she pulled away first; handshakes weren’t really her thing). “I’m Fran. Thank you for having us, and congratulations.” 

“Oh, you’re welcome.” Ignis was visibly confused, but he came off like the perfect gentleman. Naturally. “We’re happy to have you.” 

“There you are, my dear.” 

Ardyn came strolling over, both hands out. Fran instantly put her hands in his. They shared a secretive sort of smile for a second, then they were touching cheeks with a polite kiss to the air. Both sides. One, two. 

“Delighted to see you,” Ardyn purred. Fran glowed prettily under the attention.

Needless to say, Regis’s blood pressure rose and his face into a scowl. Far too intimate, weren’t they? What, they’d just had a conversation! And only one time!

Although they were…brethren, in a sense. Clearly they knew each other’s origins. They had a common friend in Theresa. Besides, Ardyn was benevolent to all strangers, and he had successfully landed Fran a gig that earned her $10,000 a month. 

That was rational, but Regis couldn’t work with rationality when he saw Fran like that with another man. He stomped over to the pair and put a hand on Ardyn’s shoulder. Seemingly in greeting, but actually he was pushing Ardyn back to create some distance between him and Fran.

“Ah, Regis.” Ardyn obligingly took a few steps back. His eyes landed on Regis with their usual mirth. And an extra dollop on the side. “How good of you to come.” 

When Ardyn said ‘come,’ his eyes seemed to sparkle. Or maybe it was just in Regis’s head. Nonetheless, Regis was painfully reminded of the fact that Ardyn had seem him in a…rather compromising position. On more than one occasion. Naked and completely unaware after his first few sessions with Fran, drool running down his chin, cum splattered across his chest and stomach… 

Regis folded his lips back as he considered that. He didn’t hate Ardyn for what he’d done—hell, Ardyn had given him a chance with this amazing woman—but this wasn’t at all a setting where Regis would be comfortable bringing any of that up. In fact it was rather embarrassing just to imagine. So. Better not to have any unnecessary contact with Ardyn throughout any of this. Or maybe ever.

He slid his arm around Fran’s waist, almost without thinking, and nodded curtly at the man. “Ardyn.” No need to say any more. 

“Hey! You guys over there,” Aranea called from her seat. “Mind coming over here so I can greet everyone?” She gestured to her sizable stomach. “Kind of immobile at the moment.” 

“Yes, of course.” On cue, Ignis ushered Regis and Fran over to Aranea. “This is my employer, Mr. Caelum, and…um, this is Fran.” 

Aranea studied Regis for a long moment. “Ah, hello, nice to finally meet you.” She didn’t seem entirely impressed, but she took in his attire with a light smile. Not too professional. Apparently that wasn’t what she’d expected. “Ignis talks about you all the time.” 

“I’m sure.” He nodded at her stomach. “Congratulations to you. Though I bet…you’re ready for it all to be over, aren’t you?” 

Ignis turned to Regis sharply, but Aranea’s face lit up with energy as soon as he said it. “Yes, thank you! Oh, shit man, you have no idea! This third trimester nonsense needs to stop! It’s too much.” She sighed and spoke rapidly about all the ailments she was suffering.

Regis nodded along as she spoke. “Oh yes, I can imagine. It’s quite an ordeal. The same happened to my late wife when she was pregnant with Noctis.” 

(Fran glanced backwards to make eye contact with Noctis, who was still staring at her. Standing next to Ardyn with his mouth slightly open.) 

Aranea clicked her teeth, but her gaze softened considerably. She looked Regis up and down again. This time in a more favorable light. “Well, it’s nice to know she got through it at least.”

“Absolutely. And here, this is for you.” He handed Aranea an envelope and a card with the printed receipt of the rocking chair he’d ordered them. 

“Thank you.” Aranea turned to Fran, who stepped forward to offer a pale purple gift bag. “And it’s nice to meet you as well.”

Nodding politely, Fran offered her congratulations. She was as wooden in her conversation as ever, but Regis knew her. That meant she was feeling comfortable. 

“Hey hey, let’s get a picture of you guys!” Prompto came over with a camera swinging around his neck. Of course he was the photographer for this event. 

They posed for a photo. Regis commended Prompto on setting up the shower. The decorations—silver streamers and photographs of Ignis and Aranea over the course of their relationship, a personal touch that was actually quite sweet—were spot on. 

There were other faces Regis knew. Gladiolus, of course, who made his way around the room with the ease of a frequent partygoer. He greeted them politely but didn’t say much, nor did he stare. It seemed like he wasn’t fazed by Regis’s plus one—a welcome reaction. There was also a young woman with short blonde hair and…voluptuous breasts…who kept coming over to Prompto and giving him little pecks on the cheek. Regis had never met her before, but he learned her name was Cindy. She seemed nice enough. And suspiciously attractive. Perhaps Cindy was another one of Ardyn’s ‘friends’…

The other people here—about five or six—were faces Regis did not know. But they knew Aranea very well, apparently. As they did Ignis. So. Friends from her work, no doubt. 

Dear lord. Regis glanced around the room. Were all these people distant friends of Ardyn? They were, weren’t they? In a way, Ardyn had orchestrated all of this. A gathering of people who have certainly never met without his influence. Even Aranea and Ignis—they would have lived their lives as complete strangers if not for Ardyn. And then their child may never have existed.

That was….a lot to consider. Regis needed a drink after he realized that. 

Out of earshot, Prompto came up to Noctis, who was standing by the gift table trying to work up the nerve to talk to Fran. “Hey, dude,” Prompto stage whispered to his best friend. “Is that woman…like is she your dad’s…you know?” 

Noctis rubbed his forehead. His social anxiety was rearing its head again. For the first time in a very long time. He hadn’t expected Fran to be so…Fran. “Um yeah. She is.”

“Daaaaamn….” Prompto took a few far away shots of the woman in question. She and Regis were glued at the hip. Making their rounds respectfully then slipping into conversation with Ignis. “She’s hot, man.” 

“I know.”

“And not just like ‘hot,’ you know? She’s like, pretty.” Prompto paused to gather his thoughts. “But like, _actually_ pretty. Real pretty, not like fake pretty? You know not like where she globs on make-up and has a face sculpting routine that lasts seven hours or something—no, like…beautiful, I mean. Seriously beautiful—”

“I _know_ , Prom. Shit.” With a sigh, Noctis ruffled the back of his hair. Of course Prompto was right. Fran was a different kind of beauty than he’d imagined. She was unique and flawless. So _together_. Poised. Approachable but not excessively friendly. Just…calm. 

The kind of person Noctis had no idea how to be around. But her calmness was exactly what Regis needed. He was flabbergasted that his father had managed to appeal to a beautiful woman, and yet…Fran was in every way a best case scenario.

“You should go talk to her, Noct.” Prompto nudged his shoulder.

“I’m…trying. But it’s like…what do I even say?” That was a shitty way to talk about it; actually Noctis had a ton of things he wanted to say to Fran. Things he’d even written down beforehand just to get them in order. But now…it felt out of place. He’d look like such a mess compared to Fran’s grace.

“Just say hi. Like, for starters. And then see where it goes.” 

“Great. Everything I’m terrible at.” 

Prompto eyed his friend carefully. “Dude, you _have_ to talk to her. I mean come on. She’s dating your dad. _Your_ dad! She deserves a medal for even putting up with him! And he’s like way more easygoing because of her. Do you even see what he’s wearing right now?” 

“Yeah, I see it…” That in itself was a huge deal. The last time Noctis had seen his father in an actual color was probably around twenty years ago. 

“So just go. Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on you.” Prompto held up his camera. “If it seems like you’re bombing out I’ll go over and take a bunch of pictures. Give you some kind of excuse to get out of there.” 

A life raft. Exactly what Noctis needed if he failed at this. Which was likely. “Thanks man. But…you better delete those pictures later, okay?” 

“Course, yeah. Now go get ’em tiger!” In a display of friendship—well, _mostly_ friendship—Prompto pushed on Noctis’s lower back. Inching him closer to Fran. 

Fuck fuck fuck. Noctis was actually doing this. He needed to clear his mind of everything distracting—Fran was a sex worker; his _dad’s_ sex worker; she was way too good for him, probably; she was amazing; and why the hell was she nothing like Aulea? Like not even a little bit. Did that make it better or worse…?—and just go for it.

“Hey.” 

Fran turned when Noctis made an awkward entrance. Regis had stepped away for a moment to refill their drinks. Better to have her alone for a few seconds, so he didn’t have his dad’s eyes on him while he did this. Which always threw him off his game. 

“Hello.” Fran tilted her head as she stared at Noctis. Her eyes never wavered from his face. As if she was trying to read him.

Damn, why was she so intense? “Umm, I’m Noctis. His son. Um…Regis’s son, I mean.” 

“I know. I saw you earlier.” A hint of a smile graced Fran’s lips. “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard many stories about you.”

“Thanks, you too—” Her words finally caught up to him. Noctis frowned. “Wait, really? My dad…tells stories about me?” 

“Oh, yes. Quite often. Mostly from when you were small. Although…” Wagging her head back and forth, clearly taking in Noctis from all angles, Fran broke into an actual smile. “He described you very well. I think I would have guessed you were his son even if I didn’t know you.”

Her smile was almost as disarming as what she said. Regis talked about Noctis…like that? All the time and…descriptions? Of what, exactly? 

Noctis was stunned for a moment. He caught sight of Regis hurrying back with their drinks, his eyes fixed on Noctis.

Well, there went their private chat. But Noctis at least had to say just one more thing! “Anyway, I’m glad you’re with my dad. You’re really good for him, you know? So thanks.” 

Fran went stiff for a second. She opened her mouth to speak—but then Regis was back, hastily making introductions between them. Shutting down any further conversation they might have had. Steering their talk down smoother paths, neutral topics. Like the gifts they got for Aranea and Ignis. It was still awkward as fuck and eventually Prompto had to swoop in for a rescue. 

Noctis was grateful. But he told Prompto not to delete the pictures right away. Not just yet. They were pictures of the three of them together: Noctis, Regis, and Fran. For some reason, he wanted to look at them after the party. 

“Sure thing, buddy.” Prompto was smiling like an idiot. 

After the cocktail hour, they were served a nice dinner. Stories went around the table. Whenever there was a dull moment, Ardyn redirected the conversation to something amusing. He was more or less the conductor here. Everyone listened when he spoke, and the levity he provided (his own sardonic brand of deprecation) was quite needed. 

Before dessert, it was time for Aranea to open gifts. Many of the things were off their registry and she exclaimed happily when she saw things she’d been hoping to get. A diaper bag, a changing table, several tons of diapers. All useful stuff. Still there were some surprised. Gladiolus got her several onesies with outrageous sayings on them like: ‘Beast in training’ written in bright pink underneath a straining barbell. ‘I’d flex but I like this onesie.’ And, ‘I lift ounces,’ next to a picture of a barbell with pink baby bottles attached. 

“Those are from me,” Gladiolus explained needlessly. As if there could be any doubt.

“Uh yeah. Thanks, Gladio,” Aranea said with a roll of her eyes. 

“Keep going,” he urged. 

The last onesie in his gift bag was a surprise. After Aranea read it, she stared at Gladiolus with an expression no one else in the room quite understood. But there was something very strong and very deep in her eyes. She showed the onesie to Ignis, whose nose turned red when he saw. He adjusted his glasses, clearly choked up. 

When she turned the onesie around for everyone to see, a collective ‘awww’ went around the room. It was plain white cotton with one word printed in big letters across the chest: ‘loved.’ 

“That one’s from me, too.” Satisfied, Gladiolus took another sip of his beer. 

Saying nothing—not caring who else was in the room—Ignis marched over to Gladiolus and dragged him to his feet, pulling him in for a close, intimate hug. A few people clapped. Fran included. Noctis teared up. Regis clapped slowly, but he had no idea what was going on. After a few rough slaps on the back—a reaffirmation of masculinity—Ignis pulled Gladiolus over to Aranea so she could hug him as well. 

It was an emotional gift exchange all around.

When they got to Regis’s envelope, Ignis and Aranea read the card together. Then they stared at printed receipt in complete shock. 

“Mr…Caelum, ah…” Ignis’s hand quivered as he held the paper. “Please, this is far too much!”

The price of the rocking chair was clearing displayed at the bottom of the receipt. Regis didn’t care enough to cross it out. Besides, he wanted them to know he’d be paying the warrantee on it for as long as they kept it.

“You need a good rocking chair,” Regis explained, waving away their protests. “Trust me. It’ll be worth it once the baby arrives.” 

“But sir, we couldn’t possibly allow you to pay this—”

Aranea put her hand on Ignis’s shoulder, stopping him. She was looking at Regis’s face and already willing to give up the fight. “Thank you very much. Sir.” 

“You’re welcome.” Regis awkwardly nursed his glass of water (he’d switched to water at Fran’s behest during dinner). 

It seemed Aranea could read the look on Regis’s face. The look that showed how much he wanted to do this for them. Or maybe how much he needed to. 

There were some other unconventional gifts. Ardyn gifted them a child’s bookcase and a lifetime guarantee to keep it well-stocked with books. Board books, children’s literature, then young adult novels as they grew up. 

“The foundation of a good education is good literature,” Ardyn explained. “It’s a necessity. I don’t know what school you’re planning on sending your daughter to, but it doesn’t matter. She needs books, lots of them! And she always will. Let me handle that, alright?” 

Aranea was very grateful while Ignis seemed…a little unsure. He agreed that books were the gateway to worldly knowledge, but he wasn’t entirely sold on the brand of knowledge Ardyn was peddling. Nor the venues he would chose to share. 

But he could hardly be picky in front of so many people. 

Last of all came Fran’s gift. Aranea thanked her right away for even bringing something. “I just met you today and already you’re giving me a gift.” She winked at Fran. “Not a bad deal. We should hang out more, yeah?” 

A few people chuckled. Fran smiled, but she nodded sincerely. As if that would be alright with her in any case. 

Ignis and Aranea unearthed the gift with polite sounds of gratitude, but they were clearly mystified. Fran had given them what looked like very large potholders: Braided strands of woolen yarn curled tightly in a neat spiral, twisted off at the end. Held together by static cling and tiny strings around each coil. There were several of these in the bag, all in different colors. Grey, green, pink, blue, and soft orange. 

“They’re lovely…” Ignis said as he inspected one of the coils.

“Thank you.” Fran sat up straighter. Taking pride in her gift. “They’re braided blankets made of wool from my hometown. A small village near Reykjavik.”

“Wow!” Aranea’s eyes widened as she pet the coils carefully. “It’s so soft!”

“Yes.” Fran explained some of the benefits of wool from her homeland, such as being very warm and waterproof. Also self-cleaning in a way. “When your child is a newborn, you can put one underneath her in whatever you use to carry her around. Should keep her warm and comfortable. Or, you can lay her on top of one wherever you put her down. So she has some support. It will stay clean.” 

“Fascinating,” Ignis replied. He seemed honestly intrigued by the idea.

“Then when your child gets older, you can untie the spiral and she’ll have a nice scarf. If you unbraid it, it can be a warm blanket as well.” Ah, a multipurpose gift! “These blankets will grow with her. Hopefully they’re useful, I braided them myself."

“You made these?” Aranea was nothing short of shocked. Even Regis turned to look at her, very impressed. 

“I did. They’re easy enough to make. I learned how to braid them for my younger sister when she was born.” She paused. “And for my cousins. And their children.” 

It seemed Fran came from a large family. Which was strange considering she spoke so little about them…

“That’s awesome!” Prompto exclaimed. “You gotta teach me how to make those someday!” 

“Hmm, yes. For whomever has children next.” Ardyn clasped Noctis’s hand and looked around the room. 

Everyone eyed each other. It was clear that this—whatever it was, hardly anything, a strange conglomeration of some of the wealthiest people in the city and a fair number of folks who worked in the sex industry—was a close knit family. It was also clear that this family would be expanding. It already had with Fran. And soon with Ignis and Aranea’s baby. And then the next baby or the next significant other. 

Regis took a moment to count himself lucky. He was just happy to be part of it.

_____________________________________________

Even as time passed, Regis dreamt about Fran. Constantly. He dreamt of mundane things; dates they could go on. Cruises. Foreign cities and resorts. Watching her luxuriate in the sun or sip champagne somewhere beautiful. Everything she deserved.

He also dreamt about fucking her. _Still_. His instinct to make love to her could not be quelled, even on nights when they’d just had sex. Regis was helplessly and hopelessly yoked to Fran. His body belonged to her in every sense of the word. 

He dreamt about eating her out. Increasingly as of late. In his dreams Fran had a delicious, wet, gorgeous pussy and Regis’s face fit perfectly between her legs. He slurped her down and held her as she orgasmed over and over again. Pressing herself into his mouth. Feral in her pleasure, riding his face as she took what she needed. 

His whole life Regis secretly loved eating pussy. It was one of his strongest suits in the bedroom, as a matter of fact. With Aulea, Regis learned exactly how she liked to be licked, how to move his tongue in just such a way to drive her crazy. He made it a habit to eat Aulea out every time they had sex. Before or after, it didn’t matter to him. He just wanted to see her get off. Honestly, Regis didn’t even know if he was born with an innate skill for the craft, but he had certainly been born with the drive. Willpower. _Tenacity_. Regis would put his mouth to work on Aulea and he wouldn’t get up until she tired of him. Whether she orgasmed or not, even if it meant she orgasmed more than once. As much or as little as she liked, Regis made his mouth available. 

So yes, his dreams about Fran were incredibly arousing. Regis wasn’t quite at an age where wet dreams were a thing, but he masturbated as soon as he woke up. Still half asleep most times. Driven by a primal urge.

….Reality, though, was on obstacle. Fran’s body was not the same as the body he dreamt about. Not in some very specific ways. They were also still working on the process of getting Fran comfortable during sex; she could face him now, thankfully. But she still left on her underwear (or, sometimes, a strapped apparatus she’d made herself called a ‘gaff,’ which Regis approved of more than the tape since it was a bit less involved, a bit more healthful). 

Of course he understood her boundaries (well, not completely, but he tried his best). Except that for him…he loved her so much that he wanted to see all of her. He wanted to watch her have an orgasm, to bring her to that point himself. Fran still didn’t climax when they made love. Sometimes she would retire to the bathroom afterwards if she was particularly hurting, ready to get herself off, or sometimes she just slid down next to Regis and ignored it. Hardly fair in the scheme of things, considering the blissful state Regis always fell into afterwards.

He wanted to touch her. Yes, he knew what she had. He knew what he’d be doing. But fuck it, he wanted to make her feel good! 

If Fran didn’t like the idea of orgasming in front of other people, then they could wait. Regis had no intention of forcing her to do something she hated. But, if the issue was really just the fact of her body’s equipment…then…Regis didn’t want to continue avoiding the issue. 

He also wanted to see her naked. Everything. Her natural form. Despite how long they’d been together, he’d never had the pleasure of seeing her completely bare. 

He was certain she’d look like a goddess made from flesh. 

The only way for things to move forward, though, was for him to bring up the topic. Naturally he had some anxiety about doing that. This was one of the things and he Fran had never talked about before. And the last thing in the world Regis wanted to do was turn her off. 

It took a while for him to work up the nerve to say anything at all. Then, finally, one night as they laid on Regis’s bed kissing languidly, he decided to do it. What the hell. His dreams about eating her out were just getting out of control—once he’d even dreamt she rode him so hard she nearly smothered him with her pussy, only to wake up choking with his face squished against the pillow. …Time for some action. 

Regis decided to take care of her from the start. As they kissed, he gently rolled her onto her back. Leaning over her, leveraged on his forearms, Regis pressed down on her. Keeping her flat against the bed. Her breasts were squished against his chest and she squirmed a little—this was not at all their usual position. But she allowed it. 

Looking down at her with an adoring smile, Regis left a trail of kisses against her chin. He let his mustache and beard tickle the skin on her neck. He knew she liked that. She also liked just a tiny bit of teeth against her throat, especially on the nape of her neck. One of her most sensitive places.

Fran shivered involuntarily. “Nnnh, mm…” she mumbled. 

“Let me take care of you tonight,” Regis whispered. His hand slid down her chest. Before she could answer, he slipped her shirt off and deftly undid her bra. 

Breasts bare, nipples hardening in the cool air, Fran eyed Regis curiously. She didn’t say anything yet. But it was clear that she had many thoughts going through her head. 

Regis stayed focused on keeping his hands calm and predictable. Giving her room to pull away if she wanted. Even though…right now Fran was yielding to his hands. That alone would make his fragile control begin to wane, but…he needed to keep his goals in sight. 

It took some finagling to get Frans tight pants down. Once they were off, Regis could focus on lathering all her exposed skin with attention. He dragged his lips up and down her legs. Her thighs, her calves, her knees. Her brown skin was so smooth and pillowy. He couldn’t help spreading her legs and sucking on a tiny patch of skin on her inner thigh. She was just so perfectly proportioned…

“Oh!” Fran twisted hard when he did that. His mouth was very near her groin, almost close enough for his cheek to touch her. But she quickly shifted to get out of his way. 

Unhindered, Regis glanced at the hidden place between her legs. She was wearing a pair of pink panties. They were tight enough that they kept her in place, but Regis could tell she was untucked. 

Good. That made things easier.

Regis sat up on his knees. This wasn’t the best position for him either—he didn’t have long before his knees gave out completely. It was regrettable; he couldn’t fuck Fran in the missionary position face-to-face because of it. But his right knee had been busted since his thirties, and age and overuse had not been kind to the left. So there was little he could do about that. 

Using the limited time he had, Regis leaned over to get some lube from the night table. While he poured some on his fingers, he laid down on his stomach right next to her. Teasing her by placing kisses along her abdomen. Right above the hemline of her panties. Aulea used to like it when he played with this spot, so he took his time. He licked the downy hair from her navel to her panties. Up and down. Long stripes. Hearing her breathy gasps, Regis grew bolder. He slowly stuck his tongue in her navel, swirling it around to spread warmth and wetness. An intimate gesture. Almost as if he were tonguing her cunt. 

A long-fingered hand came up and tangled itself in Regis’s thick grey hair. He kept going, spurred on by her nails against his scalp. When he flicked the rim of her navel, Fran’s body jolted. Electrified with pleasure. Her hips jumped and her arousal brushed against Regis’s neck. 

So hard. That part of her was so hard. 

…Heavy, heavy desire flood Regis’s lower half. 

“Oh—my ap—”

But before she could say anything, Regis went a little further. He licked the hemline of her panties again, but this time he stuck his tongue just inside. Barely a fraction of an inch. Just enough to breach the boundary and to let Fran feel that breach. 

“Regis!” 

He pulled away instantly. Fran’s chest heaved. Her breasts rising and falling with each breath. Her red eyes were alert, watching Regis’s every move. She clearly thought he’d meant to go further. To put his tongue against her in that place…

Regis wondered how that made her feel. The idea of him doing that to her. He so badly hoped it got her excited…

Even though right now she just looked wary. And besides, Regis himself wasn’t so sure he was ready for that step. That wasn’t what tonight was about. Tonight was about getting Fran out of her panties and finding some way to let her enjoy this. 

So, he held up his slick fingers and asked, “May I start…?” 

Fran frowned for a moment. Her hardness twitched against her underwear. She seemed a little hesitant. Regis let her take her time. Call the shots. 

In the end, Fran nodded and laid down on her back. “…You’re on top this time, yes?” 

“For now, if you like,” Regis answered. He pulled the seat of her panties up around her asscheek (she wasn’t wearing a g-string that night, but instead an intense v-line that left most of her ass exposed). He lifted her leg, resting it on his shoulder. 

It was not something he’d ever done before, spreading her out like this. Arranging her leg so that it draped down his back. But, if he was going to finger her properly he wanted to see what he was doing. And, the feel of a woman’s ankle against his back reminded him of his younger days. All the other women he’d been with. It was a nostalgic, happy feeling. 

And Fran cried out audibly when he manhandled her. Taken aback, but willing enough to adjust her leg so he had a good grip.

Regis delighted in that. Feeling the way she let herself go with this. He gleefully spread her asscheeks and caressed her entrance. 

“Is this alright? This position?” he asked, watching her eyelids flutter as she withstood his fingers fondling her sensitive hole. 

“Y-yes, it’s…fine…” she replied. She even nodded and shook out her hair. Getting comfortable.

“Wonderful.” Regis kissed her knee as it rested against his face. 

He took his time. That was the key to all this! If only he had all the time in the world to undo Fran completely, the way she had done to him in barely twenty minutes the first time they met. But. He didn’t know if he had the skill to bring her to that point, anyway. 

He entered her with two fingers right away. Fran was normally pretty tight, but she could take this. She’d gotten more used to it recently. The difficult squeeze was something she actually enjoyed, Regis had learned. She liked when his fingers scraped against the inside of her, when she needed to breathe to accept him. He could tell by the way she unconsciously spread her legs for him. 

Regis knew all of her tells. That was his greatest asset. He knew the inside of Fran’s body like he knew his own cock. He knew where she liked to be prodded, where she liked to be teased. How to curl his fingers. What she needed to get started when they were going easy, how to rev her up slowly. How to press all of her buttons. 

Yes. Regis had all of this information from the many nights they’d slept together. Technically yes, Fran had always been the one pleasuring Regis during their sessions, but he’d paid close attention. He’d read all of Fran’s minute body movements and taken note. Now the map of her body was clear. He knew exactly how to make her body sing under his fingers if he really tried.

And tonight he was trying. 

He slid his fingers all the way in. Letting Fran feel full for a moment. He latched one hand around Fran’s breast, just massaging it. Keeping her excited. When he rubbed her tit with his palm, adding a small bit of pressure with his fingertips, Fran always twisted her hips in pleasure. It was one sure way to get her interested. Now, with two fingers in her ass and his hand on her tit, Fran’s body undulated beneath him. She rocked against his fingers ever so slightly, letting him know she was ready for more. So, he stuck another finger in.

“Ah…” That slow slide. Perfect for her. Fran’s nipples hardened even more, enough to dig into the skin on Regis’s hand. He wanted to suck her so badly…

But instead, he took his hand away and traced the outline of her body. Her ribs to her stomach to her legs. He loved each and every part of her—the hem of her underwear slid down a little under his touch, but he pretended like he didn’t notice. 

Watching her reactions, he started to fuck her on his fingers. Shallow, then deep.Alternating. Relishing the heavy moans she gave him when he pressed in as far as he could go.

He thumbed her inner thigh. The muscles twitched under his hand. Her skin was so sensitive there. The more he touched her, the more her hips moved. The front of her thrusting up into air with the back of her impaled itself on his fingers. 

Her needy part was fully hard, Regis noticed. Pointing upward. Straining against the top of her underwear. He could probably see the tip without doing anything if he angled himself just right…but that’s not what he wanted just then.

His sweet little bunny. So excited. So hungry. Her body yearned for some friction. She was twitching for him right there—as if that part of her wanted (needed) to be seen. To get some attention. Regis knew exactly what it felt like to be so hard that it hurt, and he guessed Fran was feeling that way. 

He couldn’t stand it. He wanted to give her everything she desired, in and out of the bedroom, every single thing…

So. He let his thumb stroke the underside of her arousal. Bottom to top. Just once. 

Several things happened at once. First, Fran spasmed around his fingers. There was a direct line between that needy part and her inner reaches, that much became clear. He’d never felt her squeeze him so hard before. Also, Fran grabbed his hand, stopping his actions right where they started 

And she cried out, “Ah ha! Regis—wait, what—!” Her eyes darted across his face. 

“It’s alright, I’m sorry…” Regis apologized. He took his fingers out of her and pulled his hand back. “I’m sorry, my love. I know you said it’s off limits.”

Everything was still. Fran took a moment to collect herself, then asked, “Why did you…?”

Regis sighed. “Fran, I…” He laid his head down on her shoulder. Exposing his own helplessness. “…I’ve seen the way you get when we’re together. When you’re excited. And…I hope you understand…”

He looked her straight in the eyes. “I want you to feel that way. That’s what I _want_ , you understand?” He kissed her face, hoping her body could relax soon. “I want you to feel good and I want you to enjoy what we do…” He rested his hand on her abdomen. Just above her panties. “That’s all I care about. Do you…see what I’m saying?” 

Millimeter by millimeter, Fran laid back down on the bed. She covered Regis’s hand with her own. Stroking the backs of his wrinkled fingers. Not as defensive as before. More contemplative.

“Can you tell me why it is you don’t want to be touched?” Regis thought he needed to ask. 

Fran’s face seemed to shrink. Her nose quivered and her eyes hid behind her lashes. “Because…” 

He kissed her shoulder, rubbing her stomach soothingly. “Because of what, my love?” 

Hesitantly, Fran cupped the side of Regis’s face. “Because…once you know, then…if you see it or if you touch it…” She sighed. “That will be all you see. Not me anymore. Just…that.” 

A sense of sadness emanated from Fran. Regis couldn’t stand it! He kissed her palm several times. Then her wrist, then her face. He kissed her over and over until some of the sadness slipped away. 

“That’s not true, Fran,” he told her. “I already know what it is. I’ve known for a while, haven’t I? Seeing it or touching it won’t change anything. And besides, I know that part isn’t you. It’s part of you but it’s not…” 

Wow, this was getting difficult to explain. Regis had never thought to put any of this into words before and he was struggling. Best to just tell her what he knew for sure. What he hadn’t questioned since their first date. 

“Fran, I know you. You’re beautiful. You’re so very precious to me and…if I see it— _when_ I see it—all I’ll see is you. I promise.” 

Fran closed her eyes. She took a deep breath. Steadying. Calming. “How can you promise that?” 

“Because I love you.” He’d told her he loved her before now. She’d heard him, but she always sort of nodded and said nothing. Regis wanted her to know that when he used those words he meant them. He wasn’t the kind of man who said it lightly, or even at all. And something like this—the reality of her body that Fran wasn’t ready to alter for her own reasons—wouldn’t change that. 

She bit her lip anxiously. 

“Beyond that, you’ll have to trust me.” He kissed her sternum. “I’ll do whatever you say. Whatever you want. As long as you know that when I see you…like _that,_ the only thing I want to do is touch you. It…makes me ache sometimes. Wanting you like that. Wanting to feel you enjoy it…” 

Fran stared at him with wide eyes. Truly surprised. She looked around the room, almost like she was searching for answers. Regis gave her all the time she needed. As the minutes wore on, he thought perhaps she just wasn’t into it. He was ready to tell her it was alright and that they could be as they were, but then…

“Alright.” 

Her voice was soft. Breathy. Low. But Regis heard her loud and clear.

He moaned into her throat. “Yes? Can I touch you?”

“…yes. But first let me…” She reached down to pull off her underwear. Regis watched her automatically, but she forced his chin up. “No, wait. Look at me first. Until I say…”

“As you wish.” Regis kissed her cheek. He could see in the corner of his vision how her panties fell away. The brown expanse of her uncovered body left in its wake. 

She was naked. Every cell, every fiber of Regis’s being could sense that. He almost forget about his knees—the need to pull up her legs and plow her suddenly became so strong. 

Forcing his urges into check, Regis smiled at Fran. Looking into her eyes. Showing his sincerity by following her orders, letting the seconds tick by. As many as it took. 

“…Fine. You can…go ahead.” Fran put her hands on his shoulders. Watching every fleeting expression that passed across his face.

His eyes fell onto her bare arousal. It was a beautiful amber color, flushed pink at the head. He could see where she was starting to get wet right at the tip. 

Honestly, his first reaction was to laugh. That was it? Really? All this fuss and carrying on—that was just a penis! Regis had certainly seen one before. Yes, Fran’s was bigger than he’d imagined; he hadn’t had much of a picture in his head to work off of, besides the vagina in his dreams. In those dreams, her clit was fat and greedy, begging for his tongue. But at the end of the day, wasn’t her arousal nothing more than a very large clitoris? 

Completely at peace with what he was about to do, Regis swung her leg over his shoulder. Resuming their position from earlier.

“As I thought,” he purred. Tracing her entrance and grinning. “You are stunning, my dear. My darling girl…” 

Fran gripped his shoulders tightly. Turning her hips to give him total access to her ass. “Is—? Are you…?”

“I am so ready to feel you, my love,” Regis answered for her. “Please, allow me.”

He entered her with three fingers, still quite a tight slide, and brought his hand in between her legs. Cupping her arousal. Rubbing it against the palm of his hand. Her flesh was silky and hot—burning to the touch actually. She melted when he began to rub her. Lips trembling, legs spreading automatically. 

She’d been wanting this for a while. Regis could see that now. Could hear it in her throaty cry. It was music to his ears, water for his parched throat. All he’d ever wanted was for Fran to want him back. And now here she was—a gift. A sexy, hungry gift. 

He kissed her neck and started fucking her. His fingers moved inside of her, just right. He knew where her G-spot was, but he didn’t want to touch it yet. She’d probably come rather quickly when he played with that spot. He wanted to prolong this just a little bit more. They’d both been waiting long enough. (The knowledge that he _could_ bring her there, though, made him so deliriously happy that Regis might have actually been giggling. He couldn’t even tell.) 

“I love you,” he murmured against her skin. The heel of his hand pressed the tip of her hardness into her stomach, squeezing it and creating a delicious kind of friction. 

She barely had air to breathe, but she let out a strangled cry anyway. High and thin.

He wrapped his fingers around her need. Stroking back and forth. Seeking the hottest parts, the places that made the whites of her eyes peek out from beneath her eyelids. Wetness slid down his hand. Lubricating the way, making the most obscene sound as he stroked her. She was already so close. 

“R-regis…” she warbled. Her body rippled with every touch. Trying to withstand the pleasure, bubbling over anyway. Reaching her limit. 

He fucked her in time to his strokes. Establishing up a rhythm. In and out, up and down. Picking up speed as he watched her toes curl, one of her hands gripping the sheets hard enough to leave scratches. 

“How is that, my love? Does that feel good?” He kissed her chest until he reached her nipple, which he licked once. Just to watch her writhe. Her body was taut, arching upwards. 

“Y-yes…so good!” Her head thrashed back and forth. Hair gone wild. 

He smiled. She was adorable! “I’m so glad. I want you to feel good. All of this is for you, Fran.” He licked the underside of her breast, adding some heat to her skin. “Do you want more?”

“Nnnh…nnnh…That’s…!” He was stroking her rapidly now. Pushing deep inside. She was right on the threshold…

He was ready to make her come. 

So, he lowered his finger just a fraction and fingered that round bulb of flesh. The part inside that made her go wild. He pressed down hard so she could get a taste of the pleasure. Then he crooked his fingers, creating the perfect angle to massage her G-spot. 

She moaned so loud it almost alarmed him—then he realized this was how she dealt with pleasure. Aulea had not been quite so loud, but…he couldn’t say he didn’t like it. Fran had a rough, hoarse growl in her throat. It was very, very hot.

“Regis…!” she cried. “That place…! If you touch me there…I’ll come…!” 

Losing control, Regis snarled into her skin. “Come. Go on. Come for me. I love you so much…” 

Opening her eyes blearily, Fran looked at him with an expression of pure love. A golden moment. 

Enamored, Regis fucked her hard right where she wanted him, moving his hand with the motion of her hips…and she came. She shouted with the first squirt, and then she fell into staccato moans. Her cum went everywhere, even reached Regis’s chin, but he didn’t mind. His beard caught most of it. She could cum all over his beard if it made her happy. His face would probably smell like her the next day and that was wonderful. 

She came in volumes. Even so, Regis refused to stop fucking her until her body started to shiver. Oversensitive. Only then did he still his hand, pull his fingers away. 

He was drenched with her. Her cum, the lube, her smell. He thought perhaps she was done for the night—she laid with limbs akimbo, breathing hard—but to his surprised she opened her eyes. And she was ravishing. She flipped Regis onto his back and pulled down his boxers. In one fell swoop, she deep-throated him. Working her throat like an expert—a professional, really. It was mind-numbing and downright sinful. Regis was ashamed that he could barely last a minute. But with everything that had happened…he decided to give himself some credit. Besides it felt so good coming down Fran’s throat. 

They were filthy. And so, another perk of Fran finally allowing herself to be naked was that they could shower together. Regis actually had a shower big enough for that! Would have been a shame to waste.

Later, when they were clean again and laid side by side on his bed, they had time to consider what they’d just done. Regis had no regrets. Not in any way. He was fabulously pleased with the way things had turned out. And he hoped Fran was, too. 

She curled in close to his side. Resting her head on his chest. He stroked her hair, happy that she would initiate contact with him after all that. It was a good sign. 

…He did have a few questions though.

“Has anyone ever touched you like that before?” he asked quietly. From the way she acted, he honestly wasn’t sure.

Fran waited a while to answer. Then, turning to look at him, she nodded. “Yes. But not in a very long time. Years.”

“That long?” His eyes widened. She’d denied herself quite a lot! “…Why?”

She sighed. “Those other men who touched me…it wasn’t like this. When they touched me it felt wrong. I don’t think they saw me.” She frowned. Troubled. “It felt like they thought they were touching a man or…something else. Not like with you.” 

Regis waited for her to explain. His heart raced in anticipation. 

Calm and even, staring at Regis like he was a very interesting program on television, Fran sat up. She stroked the hair of his mustache, combed her fingers down his scalp. “With you it was….good. It felt right. I can’t really explain the difference.” 

“That’s alright.” Regis held her face in his hands. “I believe I understand. It was the same for me when we met. I hadn’t been with a woman in ten years. I _couldn’t_ even if I wanted to. I thought…well, I thought that part of my life was over.” His smile was bursting with fondness. “But then with you it felt…right, again. Good. Amazing, even.” 

“I see.” Fran nuzzled his hand. She seemed to know that already. 

Riddled with joy, Regis pulled her into his arms, laying her lithe body down on his chest. Embracing her. Kissing the top of her head. Pampering her. 

“Just so you understand,” he explained. “I’d very much like to do that again. To touch you, I mean.”

Fran choked out a laugh. “Oh? Well. Something to consider, then.”

He grinned. From the way she said it he knew she’d let him do it again. Fantastic. He wanted to do it all the time…

“I love you,” he said once again. 

A few still minutes passed before Fran whispered back, “I love you.”

_______________________________________________

They somehow made it. Crossed all the barriers. Accepted each other, flaws and all (Regis had a fair bit more flaws than Fran, it wasn’t an equal ratio, but still). Learned how to live. How to share themselves with another person. There were bumps in the road, but after almost a year together Regis thought the majority of the snags were behind them.

Then came a day when Fran got a phone call. 

They were in her apartment watching some action movie. A quiet evening. Balthier laid nonchalantly across Regis’s lap, getting beige hairs all over his black pants. Not caring in the slightest, even when Regis tried to move him. A comfortable Balthier was an immovable Balthier.

Fran’s cellphone rang. She looked at the caller ID and scowled. A coldness settled over the room. When she answered, she spoke in a language Regis didn’t understand.

_“Halló?”_

There was chatter on the other end. Suddenly Fran was on her feet, speaking rapidly into the mouthpiece in a series of harsh tones and short exclamations. 

Regis knew right away something was wrong. He’d never heard Fran speak her native language—but, he’d sort of imagined it sounded something like this. And she sounded horribly upset. Demanding answers, pacing up and down her living room which he almost never did. Balthier raised his head, disgruntled at all the commotion. 

_“Já auðvitað. Já.”_ Fran closed her eyes. Her face settled into an expression of detached resignation. Stiff. Like some type of survival mode. _“Já. Ég er á leiðinni.”_

He heard a voice on the other line say, _“Bless.”_ But Fran did not respond. She just hung up and immediately went over to her computer. Pulling up a website for international flights. 

“What’s happened?” Regis asked, coming to stand by her. 

Fran startled. As if she’d forgotten he was there. Realizing she’d just had some kind of trauma, Regis put his hand on her shoulder. Trying to calm her. Fran ignored it for a moment, typing rapidly to find the next flight. Destination: Reykjavik. 

Regis said nothing. He knew in moments like these Fran just needed time.

And indeed, after a moment, she leaned into his touch. Bringing her hand up to cover his. Closing her eyes as he stroked her head. 

“It’s my younger sister,” Fran explained. “Mjrn. She’s fallen ill again.”

“Again?” Regis had never heard the name ‘Mjrn’ before. He could only guess she was a sickly sort of person. 

Fran nodded. “Yes. She is chronically ill. Crohn’s disease. She’s also epileptic, though with medication that’s usually not an issue…” 

“How unfortunate.” Regis’s eyebrows crinkled. Two chronic illnesses at the same time? Poor girl! 

“Apparently she’s been in the hospital for almost a month. I didn’t know.” Fran turned away. Her face was unreadable. “My parents only saw fit to call me now. Because she’s taken a turn for the worse.” 

“My god,” Regis exclaimed. Such a dire situation! And so sudden! “Did they tell you anything else?” 

“They don’t know much themselves.” Fran swallowed, sniffing hard as she searched for flights. Focusing her energy on the task in front of her. 

Regis knew she had to go see her sister. That was the only logical option. He wondered if he could book his private airline on short notice…though he wasn’t even sure that would be faster. The real perk to a private airline was the luxury, but Fran didn’t need that right now.

“I used to be very close with Mjrn…” Fran added, flexing her fingers in distress while the screen loaded. “I cared for her very much. But…when I left…” The page popped up. Fran sighed. “Well. It doesn’t matter. I just need to get there.” 

“I understand.” Regis leaned in and saw the nearest flight left in five hours. They could take that, if Nyx drove them. And it looked like there were some first class seats left! First class wouldn’t be too bad…even though it’d been years since Regis had been on a commercial flight. “Here, let me book the tickets for us.” 

Fran whipped around to face him. “…Us?” 

“Yes. You said you wanted to leave right away, didn’t you? Let me buy them now.”

“…I did. Because I need to go.” She looked at him warily. “…but you?”

Oh. 

Regis realized Fran hadn’t been planning on taking him on this trip. He didn’t know why that hadn’t occurred to him. As soon as he saw Fran in any kind of distress he assumed they’d be facing it together. 

But Fran was looking at him solemnly. “Shouldn’t you best be off?” 

Regis’s heart sank. He sat back for a moment, reeling from the burn. It was ridiculous of course, Fran was a grown woman who could go where she pleased…but…

He’d thought…

“I’ll explain.” Fran put her hands on his shoulders. She could sense the hurt in him. “I’m estranged from my family. Unwelcome. Our relationship is very strained and it will be difficult when I see them again. I can’t imagine you’d enjoy being involved in a situation like that. No one would.” 

“Of course I won’t enjoy it,” Regis said with a bitter laugh. “I don’t expect to enjoy going to visit your sister in the hospital. But, if I can offer you any help, or…” 

Fran seemed unconvinced. 

“…comfort,” he continued. At that, she raised her head. “Then I’d absolutely like to go with you.” 

She tilted her head. Contemplating at rapid speed.

While he waited, Regis needed to ask. “Why are you estranged from your family? Is it because of your transition?” 

Fran immediately shook her head. “No, that’s not an issue for them. My family supported my transition the moment I told them. Right from the start.” 

Regis nodded. (He’d better pretend that he hadn’t expected a sob story about parents who didn’t understand, if only because him and Noctis had been through a version of that. And Regis hadn’t come off well in all that.) 

“The problem is…you see…” Fran looked pained having to talk about it. A mixture of irritation and…guilt, strangely. “In my village, no one ever leaves. It’s an insular community. We are born, we live and die there. That’s how it is. No one ever talks about moving away because it’s just not done. My people think the whole rest of the world is foolish, that we can only rely on each other.” 

Fran brushed her bangs out of her eyes. “And maybe they’re right. The world has problems that my village does not.” She glanced at Regis. “But even so…when I was young I wanted to see the world. I thought there must be good things on the outside. Exciting things. Interesting places. Not just a small village with the same houses and the same people forever. I didn’t think I could stand that life. So, when I was a teenager I left. I was the first one to leave in many years. My family hated me for it. We didn’t speak until I was in my twenties. Mjrn found a way to track me down.” 

Regis absorbed that for a moment. He could see the Fran who wanted to live freely. Who refused to be tied down by expectations and traditions. Who wanted her own life, even if it wasn’t the best life in the world. 

He could see all of that in her. And it was beautiful to him. 

“I’ve only been back there once and that was five years ago. Because Mjrn begged me to visit our parents. It was…an unfortunate experience.” Oh. “I debated whether I’d ever return, but…well. Mjrn is ill, so. I must.”

“…That makes a lot of sense, Fran,” Regis admitted. “I can’t imagine you in a place where no one leaves. Your choice is reasonable to me, but…cutting ties with your family is hard.” 

Regis should know. He and Noctis had been all but estranged for a while. They’d only recently reconnected. Being in a situation like that with family was nothing short of painful. Combined with that, Fran might very well lose her sister in the next few days. A horrible tragedy.

He took Fran’s hand in both of his own. “Let me come with you. Please. I don’t want you to have to face this alone.” 

“….” Fran just blinked. 

“I’ll just stay by your side. Whatever you need, I’ll be there.” Regis had already mentally clocked out of work. Let Clarus handle that shit for a while. 

“…Are you sure?” Fran asked. A tiny whisper.

“Yes. I am completely sure. We should do this together.” Regis kissed her hands, then turned to the computer as if it were decided. He started booking seats on the next flight. “You should start packing,” he reminded her.

That was true. Fran got up and headed into her bedroom. Before she began packing though, she walked back to Regis to give him a large kiss on the cheek. To press their foreheads together and murmur her thanks. 

“You’re right,” she said. “It’ll be better if you’re there. With me.” 

Regis kissed her forehead. “Then it’s settled. Wherever you go, I’ll follow.” 

Naturally, Regis realized he wasn’t just speaking about that night. But forever. For the rest of his life, as long as she’d allow it, he’d be at Fran’s side. It was the best fate he could have ever hoped for. 

“So then,” Fran announced, squeezing Regis’s hand. “We fly.”

And they flew.

 

 

 

The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hnnnnh hnnnh their dialogue at the end is based off what Fran says to Balthier in their final scene: "Shouldn't you best be off? That's what sky pirates do. They fly, do they not?" <3 
> 
> And Regis, damn dude you knew you'd be begging to get into Fran's panties before this story was up :) 
> 
> [Here's the baby shower gift Fran got for Aranea](https://www.aliexpress.com/item/TUTUYU-Fetus-Scene-Photography-Props-Infant-400CM-Braid-Iceland-Wool-Blanket-Photo-Outfits-Newborn-Baby-Souvenir/32832553316.html). So cute!
> 
> OKAY SO! 60k later...I think this was a story. Of sorts. O___O Thanks so much for reading, guys. I love this little universe and this ship runs in my veins now. 
> 
> Stay gold, fam!


End file.
